The brand-new bus gleamed as it weaved through rush-hour traffic in Cambodia’s capital. It was headed to a school, bearing a lesson about the country’s darkest period.

About two-thirds of Cambodia’s population is under 30, born a generation or more after the genocidal rule of the Khmer Rouge in the late 1970s. Many of those young people have only a general awareness of its atrocities, which left at least 1.7 million Cambodians dead.

That horrific history has been thoroughly documented, in court documents and at places like the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum and the killing field in Choeung Ek. But both of these are in the capital, Phnom Penh, and most Cambodians live in the countryside.

The bus’s mission is to bring the history to them. An international effort, it is outfitted with touch screens, laptops and projectors and connected to a vast digital record of the Khmer Rouge’s crimes against humanity, including executions, enslavement, torture, starvation and forced separations.

Its destination on a recent morning was Kampong Speu High School, an hour west of Phnom Penh. There, seven survivors of the Khmer Rouge met the bus at the school to share their stories with students.

Tuch Sakun, 82, wiped tears away with a leopard-print krama, a traditional scarf, as she described the killings of her father and her husband.

“As elders, we need to keep reminding everyone about what happened,” Ms. Tuch Sakun told the students. “You all are so lucky. You have nice clothes. You go to school. You have enough to eat. All we had back then was a black outfit and a red krama.”

The Khmer Rouge came to power in 1975 after a devastating civil war, during which the United States carried out a brutal bombing campaign in Cambodia as part of its war in neighboring Vietnam. Led by Pol Pot, the Communist regime banished people to the countryside, closed schools and ordered everyone, including children, to work toward its stated goal: an agrarian utopia. (Khmer Rouge means Red Khmer; the name refers to the Khmer people, Cambodia’s dominant ethnic group.)

It eviscerated minorities, outlawed money, closed all markets and killed people with skills and education — like doctors and merchants — whom it saw as threats. The Khmer Rouge was toppled by an invading Vietnamese force in 1979, but it continued a guerrilla war from Cambodia’s borderlands into the 1990s.

After years of wrangling, a United Nations-backed court was set up in Phnom Penh in 2006 with a mandate to prosecute top officials from the Khmer Rouge and those most responsible for its crimes. The tribunal, whose official name is the Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia, has spent more than $330 million, but it convicted only three people.

Having completed its prosecutions, the tribunal is now declassifying and digitizing decades’ worth of documents. On the bus, which is an outreach initiative of the tribunal, roughly 975,000 scanned pages, audio records and video files from the tribunal’s 16 years of litigation are accessible.

Perhaps just as important, it brings students together with survivors like Ms. Tuch Sakun. “If the bus didn’t exist, it would be hard for me to reach students and even harder for them to reach me,” she said, touring the interior of the bus with students and other survivors.

Heam Chanmona, an 11th grader, had never before talked about the “Pol Pot time,” as older Cambodians call it, with someone who lived through it.

“If we just read the history of what happened, we really wouldn’t understand how harsh it was back then,” Ms. Heam Chanmona said. “But if we read it, watch it and listen to it on the bus, we will learn so much more about what happened in the past, which we students should know.”

The bus, which started its trips in April, is scheduled to visit schools and colleges in all 25 Cambodian provinces.

Youk Chhang, the executive director of the Documentation Center of Cambodia, a nongovernmental organization that researches and documents the Khmer Rouge period, said any effort to reach communities outside the capital was “a step in the right direction.”

“Genocide education is an entry point for asking questions, researching and thinking critically about events and experiences that were never fully explored by a court of law,” Mr. Youk Chhang said. “Courts are bound by their jurisdiction; classrooms are relatively unbounded.”

Critics say the work of the Khmer Rouge tribunal was impeded by Prime Minister Hun Sen’s government, whose ranks were stacked with former cadres from the regime. Mr. Hun Sen, himself a former Khmer Rouge commander, sought United Nations assistance in setting up the tribunal. He ruled Cambodia for nearly 40 years before stepping down last year and installing his son Hun Manet as prime minister.

Last month, Mr. Hun Manet announced his support for the expansion of the tribunal’s resource center, which is constructing victim consultation rooms, an exhibition hall and a peace park. He also pledged to fund a future research center.

The tribunal will soon launch a website that allows users to search court documents in Khmer script for the first time.

Mr. Youk Chhang, who at 63 has vivid memories of the Khmer Rouge, said that by sharing personal stories from that time, “a survivor can be an educator, who benefits just as much as the student.”

Cambodia’s approach to genocide education is “very localized” and fosters “lots of engagement with people throughout society,” said Alexander Hinton, the director of Rutgers University’s Center for the Study of Genocide and Human Rights.

“If you think about the impact on people, how many people can read a legalistic document?” said Mr. Hinton, who served as an expert witness at the tribunal. “That is where the sort of translation of legal documents to terms that people can understand is absolutely critical. The bus is one way of doing this.”

“Heaven” is how Peter Jamieson describes his home in Scotland, with its uninterrupted view of Loch Ness and the green hills stretching beyond, seemingly forever. But there is a problem in paradise, and it has nothing to do with the mythical aquatic monster that brought fame to the area.

Centuries after being hunted to extinction, wild boars are back, roaming the hills and roads around the lake. And so Mr. Jamieson, who lives not far from the village of Drumnadrochit, often wakes to discover his front lawn plowed as if by an excavator.

Elsewhere in the area, some farmers have been greeted by bloody lamb carcasses on their land. And drivers on local roads have encountered traveling boars, which can run at up to 30 miles an hour, according to one local resident, who said a friend’s car collided with a 132-pound animal, totaling the vehicle, as well as killing the boar.

Mr. Jamieson, a former police officer who runs a real estate business from his home, first noticed something amiss around six years ago when his lawn was torn to pieces. He said he has to patch the grass five or six times a year and is afraid to let his dogs run freely. This has brought mixed emotions.

“I don’t like seeing animals killed at all, even a rabbit,” he said, standing outside his home with its spectacular view of the loch. Boars, however, are different, he added.

Since he first noticed the problem, he has had to hire hunters to shoot around 50 boars on his 8.5 acres of land, including one whose carcass weighed about 309 pounds. “I took a look at it,” he said. “My god, I’d never seen teeth like it.”

Nearby, close to the village of Grotaig, Catherine Mclennan, 52, recalled a close call one night when she shone a flashlight at what turned out to be a boar. “I looked at it. It looked at me,” said Ms. Mclennan, a fifth-generation farmer. “It was a scary moment because I thought, ‘What the hell do I do with this?’”

The animal disappeared before she had to decide. But two lambs she left out overnight were not so lucky.

“I went down the next morning to look for them, and the carcass was literally bare,” she said, referring to one of the lambs and speaking close to the paddock where she keeps three horses. “The fleece was at the back end literally in a big lump, and you are like, ‘What the heck, what’s doing this?’”

In fact, boars spend much of their time foraging for roots, using their snouts to turn over land. But they also eat smaller creatures, including lambs, small deer and ground-nesting birds like pheasant and grouse, and their eggs.

Once native to Scotland, boars were hunted to extinction, probably around the 13th century. Several attempts to reintroduce them for hunting foundered. Then, sometime in the 20th century, a few that had been imported from continental Europe escaped or were released from captivity, probably after having been brought to country estates as a novelty, local residents suspect.

These days, Scotland’s population of boars — or feral pigs — may have “reached the low thousands,” according to NatureScot, the agency that advises the Scottish government on wildlife and other similar issues. But local residents believe that is an underestimate, and some say the agency isn’t doing enough to help.

“The Scottish government needs to take more action as well as compensating farmers for the damage that’s been done to their livestock and damage that’s being done to their ground,” Ms. Mclennan said.

NatureScot declined to make an official available for an interview, but said in a statement that it recognized that boars can “breed prolifically and, if uncontrolled, their rooting behavior can cause damage to the environment and to property.”

The bottom line, the agency says, is that the responsibility for dealing with the boars lies with landowners.

When Mr. Jamieson needed to address his boar problem, he turned to Robert Sanderson, 41, an ambulance dispatch controller whose side business, Highland Deer Management, helps landowners cope with the sometimes exploding local deer population. Mr. Sanderson shoots the deer and sells the meat. But boars have become a significant part of his work, he said.

On a recent night, Mr. Sanderson drove along the loch with his business partner, Grant Clark, 32, who works in auto repairs. The men, who both live in Inverness, made their way to a hide-out with a view of an open hillside and waited for a while, but no boar showed up. So they thought they were done for the evening.

But 10 minutes after he left the area, Mr. Sanderson’s phone pinged when a boar triggered a sensor on a camera trap near the hillside.

Mr. Sanderson studied the image — “probably going to be 50 kilos-ish” — before he and Mr. Clark hurried back to a vantage point. They concluded that the boar was a solitary female, without youngsters that would starve without it, and therefore a legitimate target.

Minutes later, a single shot rang out as a boar was struck just below the ear, killing it instantly. The animal rolled a few feet downhill and lay prone.

Mr. Sanderson cut into the boar, removing its intestines for other animals to forage, and dragged away the heavy carcass to sell for meat.

Not everyone near the loch is unhappy to see boars in the neighborhood.

Alex Davies is the estate manager at Bunloit, a 1,200-acre property purchased in 2020 by Highlands Rewilding, an environmental group. He called the animals “ecosystem engineers” who “rotovate” the ground, allowing in new plants and bolstering biodiversity.

According to a drone survey, the estimated boar population on Bunloit stands at 29, and Mr. Davies said it may even be declining because the estate’s animals roam on other land where they might be hunted.

Mr. Davies acknowledged that boars can cause problems, but said that other places where they have returned — like the Forest of Dean, near England’s border with Wales, where he previously worked — have been fine.

“Back then, 30 years ago, there was a lot of talk about them being dangerous, the numbers increasing, all type of scare stories, none of which came to pass,” he said.

Thirty miles away, Richard Tuxford, a hunting enthusiast who owns an estate at Invergarry, said, “I love all wildlife, and it’s just about controlling it.”

“Everybody and everything are welcome here, all in balance,” he added, standing outside Tomdoun Lodge, his home on the estate, which stretches over more than 11,000 acres of dramatic scenery and was once visited by J.M. Barrie, the creator of Peter Pan.

Boars are skilled at hiding and can be “like the scarlet pimpernel,” but sometimes break cover and reveal their swelling numbers, Mr. Tuxford said.

He recalled driving home one night to find his path blocked by a dozen boars of mixed size, trotting in a line down the road in the direction of his home. Not all of them made it.

“I shot one that night,” he said. “We hung that one up in the larder.”

Ein al-Hilweh, Lebanon’s largest community of Palestinian refugees and their descendants, has long been a downtrodden place, impoverished and racked by factional violence. Its residents usually have a grim view of their future.

But now, the mood here is nothing but exuberant.

Recruitment for Hamas and its armed wing, the Qassam Brigades, is way up across Lebanon’s 12 Palestinian refugee communities, according to Hamas and Lebanese officials. They say that hundreds of new recruits have joined the militants’ ranks in recent months, exhilarated by Hamas’s ongoing war with Israel.

On a rare visit to Ein al-Hilweh, journalists from The New York Times saw posters of the Qassam Brigades’ spokesman, Abu Ubaida, everywhere, his eyes peering out from a red and white checked scarf wrapped around his face like a balaclava, imploring residents to “fight on the path of God.”

In Hamas’s stronghold, the Gaza Strip, where some 40,000 Palestinians have died in 10½ months of war, many people have soured on the group. But elsewhere, Hamas’s willingness to combat Israel has won new adherents.

“It’s true that our weapons cannot match our enemy’s,” Ayman Shanaa, the Hamas chief for this area of Lebanon, said in an interview. “But our people are resilient and they support the resistance. And are joining us.”

Young men milling in a street in Ein al-Hilweh said this was the first time they were hopeful, and they each knew dozens of family members or friends who had joined Hamas since the war began in October. Such enlistment doesn’t affect the fight in Gaza because getting into the territory is prohibitively hard, but it bolsters Hamas in Lebanon. Recruits typically remain in the community, helping to manage local affairs, and sometimes approach Lebanon’s southern border to launch rockets into Israel.

The young men were upbeat that Hamas could win for Palestinians the ability to return to the only home they acknowledge, the land that is now Israel. That such a return will occur, however unlikely it seems, has long been an article of faith for Palestinian refugees.

In the late 1940s, in the wars surrounding the creation of Israel, Jewish forces expelled many Palestinian Arabs, and many others fled in anticipation of violence. Israel has not allowed them or their descendants to return or reclaim ownership of property.

Hundreds of thousands of Palestinians settled in refugee camps in the West Bank, Gaza, Lebanon, Jordan and Syria. Over decades the camps became built-up towns — often still called camps — that are home now to millions.

In Lebanon, those Palestinians have been barred from gaining citizenship or holding a wide range of jobs.

One such community is Ein al-Hilweh, with 80,000 residents crammed into barely half of a square mile, largely within the Sidon, a southern port city. There is no shortage of men here willing to sacrifice their lives to fight Israel, Mr. Shanaa said, but he refused to say how many had been recruited from the Sidon area.

He spoke at a Hamas-run community center where men sat drinking coffee and eating dates while they watched gory footage from the Gaza war. Pictures of the recently assassinated Hamas political leader, Ismail Haniyeh, colored in by children, adorned the walls.

On the streets, a new recruitment poster for the Qassam Brigades showed dozens of smiling young men and boys barely out of middle school superimposed onto Al Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem, a site revered by Muslims. Hamas named its Oct. 7 attack on Israel — which left about 1,200 people dead, kidnapped around 250 and sparked the ongoing war in Gaza — “Al Aqsa Flood.”

The poster offered a training workshop for the new “Al Aqsa generation,” declaring that Jerusalem is “for us.”

Some Palestinians claim Abu Ubaida, the Qassam spokesman, as their Che Guevara, the long-dead Marxist revolutionary who remains a cultural touchstone. Inside Ein al-Hilweh, Abu Ubaida’s picture is nearly omnipresent, adorning scarves and key chains.

Hezbollah, a Shiite Muslim militia, political party and social movement with strong ties to Iran, is the most powerful force in Lebanon, with especially deep roots in the south. But in Palestinian enclaves like Ein al-Hilweh, multiple Palestinian groups operate and have followings — some secular and others, including Hamas, hewing to a Sunni Muslim ideology. Hamas, which is also backed by Iran, and Hezbollah are allied in their hostility to Israel.

For years the Lebanese military has barred journalists from entering Ein al-Hilweh, where armed factions have repeatedly battled each other, and the Lebanese military, for control. Under a decades-old international agreement, the military generally stays out of the Palestinian enclaves, which operate quasi-independently within a nation where the weak central government can barely provide electricity, let alone security.

But journalists from The New York Times were able to enter the town, swept up in a crowd of mourners during a funeral procession for a Hamas official, Samer al-Hajj, who was killed this month by an Israeli airstrike. The Israeli military called him a senior militant responsible for launching attacks from Lebanon into Israel; Hamas confirmed that he worked for the group but refused to say what position he held.

Mourners carried the coffin from a nearby morgue through an entrance to Ein al-Hilweh, where a banner proclaimed, “Al-Aqsa Flood Battle, the Battle of Glory and Victory.”

The crowd chanted, “Our blood and our souls we will sacrifice to you, martyr!”

Men fired automatic weapons into the air. “No shooting! Save it for the Israelis!” a woman yelled at them.

The procession snaked its way into the labyrinth of buildings and alleyways so narrow they could barely fit a fruit cart, to Mr. al-Hajj’s home, where his widow and two children awaited his body.

Khaireyah Kayed Younes, 82, said she knew that Mr. al-Hajj, a close friend of her son, was with Hamas, but she did not know he was an important figure until Israel targeted him. She said he was known for his gentle demeanor — he often played with local children — and willingness to lend a hand to neighbors in need.

“This man is from our people, our neighborhood, our camp and what used to be our country, Palestine. We cry for his loss,” she said.

“If one of us dies, 100 will rise up; we won’t stop,” she added, her voice rising to a shout as she wiped tears from her wrinkled cheeks. “We are steadfast!”

Outside Mr. al-Hajj’s home, a woman, Feryal Abbas, led the crowd in chants addressed to Yahya Sinwar, an architect of the Oct. 7 attack on Israel, who succeeded Mr. Haniyeh as Hamas’s overall political leader.

“Sinwar don’t worry, we have men willing to give their blood!” she yelled.

Though Israeli officials have neither confirmed nor denied that their forces killed Mr. Haniyeh, as is widely believed, they have said they aim to kill Mr. Sinwar. But whether radical movements like Hamas can be weakened or destroyed through campaigns to assassinate their top leaders has long been a matter of debate among experts who study insurgencies.

They say the strategy of meeting violence with violence, instead of addressing underlying grievances, risks radicalizing more people.

The secular groups that long dominated the Palestinian movement have fallen out of favor. Two decades after his death, photos of Yasir Arafat, the once wildly popular head of the Palestine Liberation Organization, were noticeably scarce and faded throughout Ein al-Hilweh. Photos of his successor, Mahmoud Abbas, president of the Palestinian Authority, were even scarcer.

Conflict between the Palestinian Authority and militant groups like Hamas has spilled over into violent clashes in Gaza, the West Bank and refugee communities, undermining the ability of Palestinians to confront Israel politically.

“The fact that there isn’t a central address in Palestine to negotiate for peace has weakened the Palestinian cause and destabilized the region,” said Khaled Elgindy, a senior fellow at the Middle East Institute, a research organization in Washington.

Any deal Mr. Abbas makes with Israel can be disrupted by Hamas, he said, adding: “Not one group has the monopoly to negotiate peace or wage war among the Palestinians. And that has weakened them and will continue to weaken them in the future.”

But since October, within Ein al-Hilweh, the groups have stopped pointing fingers at each other — for now.

A person armed with a knife killed at least three people at a city fair in the western German city of Solingen on Friday night, according to the police. The attacker, who escaped, also severely wounded five others. Officers were looking for a suspect.

Local news outlets reported that a lone attacker had turned on the crowds during the fair celebrating the 650th anniversary of the city’s founding.

“This evening, we are all in shock, horror and great sadness in Solingen,” Tim Kurzbach, the city’s mayor, said in a post on Facebook. “We all wanted to celebrate our city’s anniversary together and now we have to mourn the dead and injured.”

So far, the motive for the attack is unclear.

The police were interviewing witnesses and those victims able to talk for details that could help catch the attacker, a Düsseldorf police spokesman said on Saturday morning.

The attack took place in a central square in Solingen, which is about 14 miles east of Düsseldorf, where the city fair, which attracted thousands, was underway.

The area quickly emptied of visitors, as the police tried to catch the assailant and set up barriers, news outlets reported. Videos from the scene showed a strong police presence. And some local officials visited the site early Saturday morning.

The Associated Press reported that the city canceled the rest of the festival after the attack.

The attack comes nearly three months after a police officer was killed in a knife attack in Mannheim 130 miles south. In that attack, six people, including the officer, were stabbed at anti-Islamist rally.

The Hong Kong Museum of History was the place to go to understand the city’s transformation from fishing village to a glittering metropolis. It housed a life-size replica of a traditional fishing boat and a recreation of a 19th-century street lined with shops.

That exhibit, known as “The Hong Kong Story,” is being revamped. People have instead been lining up for a splashy new permanent gallery in the museum that tells a different, more ominous story about the city — that Hong Kong is constantly at risk of being subverted by hostile foreign forces. The exhibit features displays about spies being everywhere and footage of antigovernment street protests in the city that were described as instigated by the West.

As he kicked off the exhibition this month, John Lee, the Beijing-backed leader of Hong Kong, made clear that its overarching purpose was to be a warning to the city. “Safeguarding national security is always a continuous effort. There is no completion,” he said. The gallery, which is managed by Hong Kong’s top national security body, opened to the public on Aug. 7.

The exhibit points to a new aspect of the Hong Kong government’s crackdown on the city after antigovernment protests in 2019 posed the greatest challenge to Beijing’s rule in decades. The authorities have introduced security laws to quash dissent in the years since. They are now pushing to control how people will remember the recent political turmoil.

In the government’s telling, the protests were not organic expressions of the residents’ democratic aspirations, as the city’s opposition activists have said, but part of an ongoing plot by Western forces to destabilize China.

The national security exhibit opens with a short video highlighting the unfair treaties of the 19th century that forced China to cede Hong Kong to the British, as well as the Japanese occupation of the city during World War II. Describing the protests in 2019, the video highlighted footage of protesters hurling Molotov cocktails. “Law and order vanished,” the narrator said. Then it credited new national security laws imposed by Beijing in the crackdown that followed, for turning the tide “from chaos to order.”

The exhibit displayed the battered shields, helmets and boots used by the riot police who quashed protests. It listed the casualties and damage purportedly inflicted by the protesters: 629 police officers injured and more than 5,000 Molotov cocktails thrown by violent protesters.

There was no mention of the tear gas, rubber bullets, beanbag rounds and pepper spray deployed by the police. The display did not mention the attack on protesters at a subway station by a mob armed with sticks and poles, and the police’s slow response to that violence.

“One point of this exhibit is to stoke fears of social ‘turmoil’ and ‘chaos’ so as to persuade Hong Kongers to embrace the social stability that the Chinese Communist Party purports to offer,” said Kirk Denton, an emeritus professor at Ohio State University and author of a book about the politics of history museums in modern China.

Winnie Lu, 61, a Hong Kong resident who works in sales and who was visiting the museum on a recent weekday, said that the exhibit reminded her of how hard it was for her to get to work during the protests, when demonstrators blocked roads and paralyzed the subway. “Without national security, how can ordinary people live a good life?” she said.

In many ways, the national security exhibit appeared to take a page out of the Chinese government’s playbook after the Chinese military’s brutal suppression of the 1989 Tiananmen Square pro-democracy movement left widespread disillusionment. In the months and years that followed, the authorities pushed an intensive patriotic education campaign in mainland China that cast Japan as an enemy of the Chinese people and the Communist Party as the sole engine of progress in Chinese history.

Rowena He, a senior research fellow at University of Texas, Austin, and a historian of the Tiananmen massacre who used to teach in Hong Kong, said that the new exhibit about national security was part of a broader “history manipulation” campaign by Beijing after the Tiananmen crackdown. The Chinese leadership wants to imprint the “official account of history into national memory, emphasizing China’s victimhood at the hands of the West and Japan,” she said.

In the name of patriotic education, the government in Hong Kong is also turning the Museum of Coastal Defense, a military museum that has historically centered on semi-ruined British fortifications, into a memorial to China’s war with Japan in World War II. It will rename it the Hong Kong Museum of the War of Resistance and Coastal Defense, referring to the war by the phrasing China uses: “The Chinese People’s War of Resistance Against Japanese Aggression.” The government also plans to build a museum focused on Chinese achievements, the history of the Communist Party and the founding of the People’s Republic.

The new national security exhibit adds to broader concerns about a chilling effect imposed by China’s crackdown on the opposition, which has led to the arrests of dozens of veteran democracy activists under national security charges. Public libraries have pulled books associated with local pro-democracy figures or movements. Gatherings to remember the victims of the 1989 Tiananmen massacre in Beijing have been banned, and a sculpture that was a memorial of it was removed. Academics have also come under pressure; Ms. He, a Canadian citizen, was recently denied a visa to return to her job as an associate professor at the Chinese University of Hong Kong.

Some Hong Kongers have been concerned about what they see as the government’s efforts to rewrite the past. When the Museum of History’s permanent exhibit, “The Hong Kong Story,” closed for renovations in 2020, visitors filled the gallery, fearing that the authorities would use the planned revamp to erase the city’s colonial history and its references to the annual candlelight vigils commemorating Tiananmen victims, now deemed sensitive.

Experts said that the exhibit at the history museum sought to bind Hong Kong ever more closely to Chinese history. The authorities have also organized patriotic study tours to mainland China and revamped the curriculum in schools to counter a rising local identity distinct from the mainland.

Some of the new displays at the national security exhibit closely resemble that which would be found in similarly themed museum exhibits on the mainland. A floor-to-ceiling Chinese flag hung on crimson walls. Next to it was a 13-foot long replica of an oil painting depicting Mao Zedong as he proclaimed the founding of the People’s Republic of China in 1949 at Tiananmen Square.