As the international community attempts to bring Western concepts of justice to bear to Cambodia's "killing fields," many Cambodian Americans find themselves torn over just what the idea of justice means. PNS associate editor Joshua Phillips talked with Cambodians living in California, where half of some 300,000 Cambodian Americans now live.

SAN FRANCISCO -- "What is evil?" muses Thu Ng, "What is evil after all that has been done in Cambodia?"

An official answer to Ng's question may come within a week or so. After months of scrutiny, a three-person United Nations legal team has delivered their report on the Cambodian genocide of 1975-78 suggesting possible steps for a tribunal to Secretary General Kofi Annan.

Ng (pronounced "knee"), 26 and now a student at City College of San Francisco, feels that the U.N. "should try remaining individuals -- families are still suffering from the genocide and (the Khmer Rouge) should not get away with it."

He pauses, then continues.

"Cambodia is my homeland, but I no longer live there. I've been exposed to Western philosophy and values. Maybe I wouldn't be calling for tribunals if I lived in Cambodia."

All Cambodian-Americans -- some 300,000, half of whom live in California -- grapple with issues of morality and pragmatism, reconciliation and justice, even though estranged from their homeland. But after thirty years of dislocation, many admit that their concept of justice may diverge from that of their countrymen -- a confession accompanied by some anxiety as they seek to make sense of the past.

Phannura Pruk, 35, and his friend "Ponlok" -- he asks me not to use his name since he still visits Cambodia -- a graphic designer, 29, have both lived here about 15 years.

"We're the sort of people who forgive," says Ponlok, whose father was killed during the Khmer Rouge regime. "Forgiveness is a way of Buddhism. But I believe that a genocide trial would be good for the nation. I want to see these people hang."

Pruk nods in agreement. But both of them concede that "it is probably not going to happen because much of the current government consists of former Khmer Rouge."

Those under 20 -- like the Cambodian-American teenagers practicing traditional Cambodian "Aspara" dancing in the high school gym, many wearing thick, dark lipstick, hair slightly tinted, sporting retro 70s bellbottoms -- have only a vague idea about the current events in the country of their birth.

"They should go to death row," declares Cindy Heng, 17, without batting an eye.

Later, her friend adds that, "The idea of justice is probably very different over there."

"Most of our parents don't share the experience of the Killing Fields with us," explains Mary Ath. "Many of them feel ashamed of the past."

Lisa Chieng Tan, a health worker who assists traumatized Cambodians at the Chinatown/North Beach Mental Health Services, is another survivor who admits that she also has trouble "easing my mind from the pain."

She says talk of the Khmer Rouge and tribunals can stir great anxiety in some of her patients who don't want to hear about the past. Fear, paranoia, and anger persist for many survivors, she says.

For Tan and most of her patients, the tribunals are no panacea. "We don't believe that you can arrest all of these people," she says. "Even if you put all of the guilty people in prison, the suffering will still continue."

Tong Chea, one of Tan's patients, agrees that trials will never lessen his emotional pain, but regards them as an important step to correct problems that continue to plague the county. Chea still dreams that he is running from the Khmer Rouge even though he is paralyzed from waist down from the effects of a grenade attack.

"He who has the gun wins," he says with a wry smile. "I've known that since I was a kid." He reviews the players who have had the gun during Cambodia's tragic history: the U.S. through its bombing campaign, King Sihanouk as well as Chinese, Thai and U.S. officials who backed the Khmer Rouge at one time or another.

Advocates of a trial or truth commission hope that the process would help Cambodians make sense of and heal from the trauma of their past, bolster the rule of law, and address ongoing issues of impunity.

"Cambodian-Americans who have lived here for the last 10-15 years have become used to the American justice system," says Samol Tan, a middle school computer teacher. "They see the war crime tribunal as a good thing, but they don't really think about those who are still living in Cambodia."

Peace, he notes, has only been established for a short amount of time and Khmer Rouge cadres have been threatening tribunal advocates with another war.

"A lot of Cambodian-Americans who say how the country should be run do not realize how much the people still live in fear," he says. "Above anything else, we are mostly worried about our families back home."