Escaping the Khmer Rouge

by Chileng Pa

  With the sun directly over our heads, we needed to find shade in which to rest. My father-in-law was the first to speak up. “Son, we need to stop and eat. I also want to find out when we might be able to return to our home.”

  I pulled the cart off the trail, beneath a large tree. A pond nearby provided cool water to ease our thirst and bathe the baby. I took a large straw mat from the cart and unrolled it on the ground. There we sat as we ate the meal we’d prepared early that morning. We said little as we ate, watching our fellow refugees passing by. A few soldiers walked among them.

  I saw a lone soldier overtake a Chinese merchant traveling with his wife and family. They were pulling a cart fully loaded with possessions, but they had no food. As the soldier passed, the man spoke to him timidly. “Ah, Excuse me. Ah, mister,” he stammered. “Have you any food for my family? We’ve run out of supplies, and we’re hungry.”

  The yothea turned to him and said, “Don’t worry, Mit Bu,” using the Cambodian word for “uncle.” When you arrive in Angkar territory, Angkar will have a fresh meal waiting for all of you. Angkar will provide everything you need.”

  As I heard the soldier telling the same lie to the Chinese man that we’d already heard numerous times in the short while we’d been on the road, I realized that we were never going to be allowed to return to our homes to live normal lives. All the words these Khmer Rouge were speaking to the people in the name of the Angkar revolution were falsehoods. After hearing Angkar propaganda for so long, these young uneducated soldiers probably believed the lies they were telling us.

  Moments later, a group of yothea came along the trail, one insolently announcing to the people resting in the shade, “You must leave this area immediately. There will be no mercy for anyone who fails to follow Angkar’s orders.”

  We all knew there was no reason for the soldiers to make us leave. The more contact we had with them, the more we learned of their black hearts and evil minds.

  We left the shaded area quickly, along with the other refugees, and continued our journey, now with father-in-law pulling the cart. I pushed it from the rear. We traveled for a couple of hours until we approached an old, unstable-appearing wooden bridge, over fifty meters long. Many of the planks were missing or broken and a number of the structural supports had rotted away. As we cautiously began crossing the bridge, we were horrified to find dead bodies lying all along it, and we saw many more bodies in the gorge below. Flies were swarming over the corpses’ eyes and noses. As we continued on our morbid journey, we came across a number of sick, injured, and lame people, moaning and crying out for help. We were horrified when we saw the yothea casually kicking these still-living people off the bridge to their deaths. The soldiers struck those who attempted to resist with their rifle butts.

  Witnessing atrocities like these creates a fear like no other. When I’d described the previous day’s events to my father-in-law, he’d listened to me and believed me, but only now did he comprehend. He looked back at me and paused, and I could tell he was terrified. The yothea began shouting at him to get the cart moving, fast. Even though he was breathing heavily, he managed to start pulling again, and we eventually reached the other side of the bridge. Without stopping to rest, we headed for a Buddhist temple, called Wat Preak Chrey, because we were told there was shelter and rest there for all of us.

  But soon my father-in-law complained that he could go no farther. The sun had sunk almost to the horizon by the time we reached our refuge. I found a place to park the cart near the temple fence, also beneath a tree near a creek. We soon constructed a temporary shelter, its walls and roof made of branches with leaves spread over them. We slept on a plastic mat on the ground.

  My mother-in-law quickly prepared a meal. When we packed that morning, we’d thought to bring two fifty-pound bags of rice in addition to two suitcases of clothes, two additional bags of new clothes, and a small bag of jewelry and gold. We also had a liter of kerosene for an oil lamp, which we made from an empty condensed milk can. We had plates and knives and three or four pots but, in our haste to leave, we didn’t gather up enough spoons. So we took turns eating with the utensils or our fingers.

  We were still frightened, but we began to relax a little as we ate. We all needed to talk about what we had seen during the day to lessen our fears and to reassure one another. There were eleven of us: my wife and I, our son, her parents, three brothers, and one sister, and my grandmother and sister. We consisted of a young couple, a middle-aged couple, a young woman, a teenaged boy, three children, an old woman, and a tiny baby. The responsibility for this vulnerable group fell heavily on my shoulders.

  After we ate, it was still somewhat light so I took a walk through the temple compound. I saw hundreds of families like mine. They had all heard the same rumors about finding rest and shelter at the temple compound. And they had all discovered, as had we, that the only shelter beneath the trees was what each family could make. The shelters were crude at best, made of poles or branches covered with any materials available. Every square meter in and outside the compound was covered with makeshift shelters. When I returned to my own, everyone in my family was resting. The day had been exhausting for it was the first time any of us had traveled such a long distance on foot.

  The next morning, I took some items from the cart and started back toward the village looking for anyone who wanted to trade for rice, salt, or other foodstuffs. On the way, I spotted a large group of yothea leading a line of young long-haired Cambodian youths toward the temple. As I drew near them, I understood why the prisoners were walking in line.

  The Khmer Rouge had pieced their ears, and strung sewing thread from ear to ear. Each line of thread held a dozen prisoners. The procession drew a large crowd and, as the soldiers led the lines of prisoners to a thicket behind the carved temple wall, I knew what was about to happen. It was obvious to most of us watching that this was going to be a execution. One of the older soldiers, in his mid-thirties, carried a revolver on his belt and seemed to be the ranking officer. He shouted something about how the Angkar revolution hated young men who wore their hair long. Suddenly, the sound of assault AK-47 rifles echoed from the bushes, along with the screams and cries of the young men. When the soldiers were finished, they simply walked away, leaving their victims’ bodies in the thicket.

  I quickly returned to my family, knowing they would be concerned about the gunfire. I told everyone what had happened, but my grandmother couldn’t understand this new world.

  “Why would they do that to the young men?” she asked.

  Her rhetorical question was all of ours. We knew now how hungry the yothea were for revenge. They wanted to show us, with as many examples as possible, that no show of disobedience to Angkar would be tolerated. We talked over the possibility of staying alive under the Angkar regime, then decided to wait a couple of days to find out more about what the Khmer Rouge intended to do. We also agreed, however, that we needed to assume we were not going to be able to return to our home. Since we had no idea how long or how far we would be traveling, we knew we needed to lighten our load and get sufficient food supplies.

  My father-in-law stayed with my wife, son, and grandmother. My mother-in-law and sister went to a nearby village looking for a butcher from whom to buy meat. I hurried back to the temple compound to trade for rice, salt, and any other food available. We continued these efforts for the next two days, while we also tried to gather information about the Khmer Rouge’s next move. We didn’t have to wait long, for on the third morning, a large group of male and female yothea came by our shelter and told us to leave immediately. We began packing our belongings on the cart as we watched them move from one refugee shelter to the next, giving the order to leave. About an hour later, they returned to pass along a further message, filled with threats and intimidation.

  “Uncle and Aunt, you must remove your shelter and leave,” said one soldier. He addressed my parents-in-law as “comrade uncle” and “comrade aunt.” He continued, “Now! This
is your last warning! If we return and find you are still here, you cannot say Angkar didn’t give you fair warning!” We understood that to mean that we wouldn’t be alive to say anything.

  Although the warning was effective and people packed with greater urgency, most were also cursing and complaining about Angkar’s lies. Once again, the road filled with refugees on the move. Although everyone was in a hurry to get their shelters down and packed up, there was no way to move quickly down the road. There was only keeping up with those ahead, and staying ahead of those behind. I pulled the cart, and my father-in-law and brothers-in-law pushed. My wife and grandmother rode on the cart, one of them holding our baby. Each day, we set out at sunrise and walked until sunset. We walked until we were too tired or hungry to continue. We made our way under the hot sun, after a few weeks in bare feet because our cheap thong sandals had worn out. The paved roads over which we traveled became so hot that we ended up with bird egg-sized blisters on our feet.

  After a few days, I took a small packet of my most valued photographs, identification cards, and certificates that I couldn’t bear to bury in Phnom Penh, and threw them surreptitiously into a small river we were passing. I finally and irretrievably had realized that our lives were different, and that we were in dreadful danger from these new rulers.

  After two weeks, we were approximately twenty kilometers from the capital. We decided to stop and rest for a few days because we were all exhausted. I found a good place to camp, and quickly built a shelter. When everyone was comfortable, I returned to the road, thinking there might be a chance I could see some of my relatives. I was amazed by how many people were passing by. There were also numerous motorized vehicles, and the pace at which traffic was moving was much swifter than on our highway. I walked to a hill overlooking a point where the traffic was moving slower, and discovered that the Khmer Rouge had placed a wooden barricade across the road. There, officials were questioning every traveler before allowing anyone entry into the new district.

  I stood there hoping for a glimpse of my brothers, my stepmother, my wife’s older sister, or any other relatives. I did not want the officials to notice me, but I also didn’t want them to think I was hiding. As I watched for my kinfolk, I noticed that the Khmer Rouge had set up a long wooden table behind the barricade. Some soldiers were seated behind the table while others stood next to the table, urging each person in line to step in front of them. Behind the table, a long blackboard hung from the overhanging branches of a large tree. On the board, the soldiers had written a brief statement:

  #1. Anyone who was born in the capital city of Phnom Penh,

  #2. Anyone who was a former military officer, intelligence agent, or government employee, or

  #3. Anyone who was an investigator, police officer, teacher, student, and so forth ... must come to the front of the line for immediate processing and transportation back to Phnom Penh.

  For all those who come in response to Angkar’s message on the board, Angkar will reward you by allowing you to join a special group of Angkar soldiers.

  The Khmer Rouge were telling people who acknowledged their identity as former government officials or military officers that Angkar needed their knowledge and experience, and were promising them jobs in keeping with their previous position or rank. After answering some brief interview questions, these people were quickly loaded into military trucks. As each truck left the area, the refugees aboard were cheering and shouting messages to people on the ground to carry to their friends and relatives. Others on the ground eagerly waited to register their previous identities.

  I heard one man yell from his spot on a truck, “Please tell my wife and children I’m going to Phnom Penh to work for Angkar! I’ll be back soon to get her and the family and bring them home!”

  Another man shouted, “I can’t believe Angkar has such a big heart! Angkar has liberated the whole country, then has forgiven us, and we’re going home to our jobs again!”

  As the trucks drove away, I thought to myself, “I don’t believe it.” I’d heard too many lies and witnessed too many demonstrations of Khmer Rouge hatred and revenge against anyone they thought was associated with the Lon Nol government. I couldn’t fathom any reason why the Khmer Rouge would want those they considered enemies to work with them. I doubted the trucks were headed to Phnom Penh, but feared rather that they were going to a killing place.

  As long lines of people awaited their turn to be interviewed, I made my way back to the shelter after having no luck in my search for relatives. When I told my family what I had seen at the control point, everyone agreed that the Khmer Rouge had some other motive for putting their message on the chalk board. We decided to stay put for a few days, as we had at the temple compound, to see what happened. Maybe we would be lucky enough to find some of our relatives.

  Every morning, my brothers-in-law, Rann, Samnang, and Vibol, and I went fishing in the stream near our shelter, where bomb craters had created a number of large pools. During the war, the Americans had provided each Cambodian soldier with two nylon mosquito nets and, fortunately, we’d brought them with us when we left Phnom Penh. We used one to cover four or five people while sleeping, always including my grandmother, mother-in-law, wife, and baby. The other we used as a fishing net. It was an effective method, and we were able to catch more fish than we could eat. There hadn’t been much fishing during the war years, with many people having fled to the capital, so the streams, ponds, and bomb craters were crowded with fish. Most people had trouble catching them now, however, without fishing tools or nets. We caught large fish, averaging five pounds, a smaller kind with poisoned gills around three to four pounds, and several types of eels. We also collected shrimp, snails, and frogs.

  My wife and my mother-in-law cleaned and cooked the fish. What we couldn’t consume immediately, we dried or made into heavily salted and spiced fish paste which kept a long time, for we feared a long journey awaited us. We traded the excess fish in the nearby village for rice and salt which we purchased in five pound containers. We had more rice and salt than we could eat, but these supplies were the new currency, so they could be valuable to us in the future. Ironically, the gift of a mosquito net from the American army helped keep us alive and a bit stronger for longer than most of our fellow travelers.

  One evening, a man named Chea came by our shelter, introduced himself, and asked for food and clothing. He was somewhat lame and very weak. We welcomed him into our shelter and gave him food. After he had filled his belly, he began telling his story.

  After Angkar took over Phnom Penh, Chea and his family left Phnom Penh on National Highway Two headed for Takeo Province, his wife’s birthplace. When they arrived at the Takhmau District checkpoint, thirty kilometers from Phnom Penh, soldiers questioned him about his occupation. Angkar was telling the people at the checkpoint there that they were interested in identifying Lon Nol soldiers and government employees because Angkar needed their assistance in the new administration. Angkar proclaimed that everyone was now one class, one nationality, members of one nation at peace. There was no enemy, no war. This sounded familiar to us, but we didn’t interrupt Chea as he continued his story.

  He told us that a number of people rushed forward to register and be forgiven their past. Chea himself, as a former military policeman, eagerly signed up and, leaving his wife and children behind, climbed onto the truck taking people back to Phnom Penh. But the truck did not return to Phnom Penh. Instead, it went south about six or seven kilometers, where it turned sharply onto an old dirt road which led to an abandoned temple. Coming to a stop near a pond adjacent to the old temple, the Khmer Rouge ordered everyone on the truck to get off. The truck roared off down the road, leaving the former soldiers and bureaucrats standing by the pond.

  Suddenly, machine guns began firing from bunkers inside the temple. Bullets flew and bodies fell. Chea quickly dropped to the ground and, rolling through puddles of blood, threw himself into the pond. The machine guns continued to fire until no one was left s
tanding. Chea heard people screaming, and the smell of blood was thick in the air. Then he heard the sounds of a bulldozer. He dared not move. The bulldozer began pushing bodies into the pond already running with blood, and corpses and dirt tumbled down on him. Still he didn’t move. The screaming continued, as did the sounds of people trying to swim to safety. He heard the racket of soldiers running up to the edge of the pond and spraying bullets into the water with their AK-47s.

  Chea remained hidden in the pond beneath lotus leaves and dead bodies for the rest of the day and halfway through the night, before he dared swim to the opposite side. Since climbing out of that pond, he had hidden in the woods, coming out only when he was so hungry he needed to beg for food.

  I asked Chea to come with me to the cart so I could give him some clothes. As we walked there, he addressed me by the Cambodian term that has so many meanings, “respected friend” in this context. “Don’t trust the Khmer Rouge, bong,” he said. “They are liars.” After a moment, he asked, “Where will you go now?”

  It took me a moment to answer him because I realized we didn’t know where we were going. I told him we would probably continue to head toward Svay Rieng Province and, since he had not found his family again, he could come along with us. Chea declined, saying he must continue to search for his wife and children, and he couldn’t risk being recaptured by the yothea. He thanked me for the food and clothing, and left our camp to lose himself in the crowd until he could again head back into the woods.