|
|
The Khmer Rouge entered Siem Reap’s provincial capital on the night
of April 18, 1975, and immediately forbid people to leave their
town. On the morning of April 19, this “black shirt” force called
ordinary citizens, soldiers, teachers and government officials for a
meeting at the provincial hall, where they would receive assignments
from Angkar. The following day, Angkar called upon people to leave
the town for three or four days.
Armed
Khmer Rouge soldiers ordered them to pack their belongings and
leave. My parents-in-law, brother- and sister-in-law, and my wife
and I left our house on a cart loaded with some of our possessions.
The roads were flooded, with some people carrying their belongings
on their shoulders or heads, and others pulling carts. All of them
wore sad, frightened expressions.
The
black shirted soldiers were everywhere on the roads, looking like
crows. Houses were emptied and silenced, leaving tables and chairs
scattered untidily. Reaching a junction near Sala Dambaung, I saw a
soldier with a gun at his waist approaching my family. He asked
about our jobs. I told him that I was a motorbike mechanic, and my
father-in-law said he was a worker. The soldier then told us to go
west Kra-lanh district. A little outside the town of Siem Reap, we
stopped to rest with a woman who had been separated from her husband
and children. She told me that the Khmer Rouge chased her out of the
hospital even when she was sick, and other patients who were unable
to move were put in a truck and driven away.
My
brother-in-law and I took turns pulling the cart. After walking for
about 1 kilometer, we met another woman with a small package on her
head and her two children. The woman burst into tears when one of
her children asked for his father. She told her child that Angkar
had taken him to be reeducated. Feeling compassionate towards the
two little kids, I put them in the cart so they would not have to
walk. Because it was getting hotter and we were hungry, we decided
to take a short break for lunch at Toek Vil village. Along the way,
we met several black shirted soldiers on motorbikes who asked about
our former jobs. I gave them the same response. At about 5 p.m. we
arrived at Kha-nat village.
While
we were resting under a big tamarind tree, two Khmer Rouge soldiers
appeared, asking me to repair a broken motorbike. After I fixed it,
they told me not to leave because Angkar was preparing shelters for
people. Two days passed before we were allowed to move our
possessions and go to a house.
A
week later, a Khmer Rouge cadre named Sal came to rule Kha-nat
village. He called people to come for a meeting and hear Angkar’s
plan. The plan was that people needed permission from the official
authority in order to travel; otherwise, they would be responsible
for the consequences.
In
the morning, about 50 families were assigned to move south of
Kha-nat village. They took a cart path near Kok Khmaoch. Building
shelters was quite difficult because we had to barter clothes,
tobacco, and other materials with the base people for bamboo leaves,
sugar palm leaves, wooden columns, and other construction materials
to build our huts. Day by day, there was less and less food. Not
long after that, Angkar declared that it would collect people’s
possessions and turn them into community property, and they would
create a cooperative dining hall. Angkar appointed all the base
people to watch over the 17 April people. It also assigned people to
cultivate rice, build levees, dig channels, clear forests, uproot
tree trunks and plant yams. Angkar directed us to work for a yield
of 3 tons of rice per hectare. Nevertheless, every meal was only
watery porridge which sometimes was mixed with corn, yam, or manioc.
One
day when I was on my way to chop wood at Baray, I saw many corpses
lying in trenches. I thought they had probably been teachers,
soldiers, and other government officials who were taken from Phnom
Penh to be reeducated in Siem Reap.
In
1976, Angkar pushed people to work even harder, yet the food rations
were becoming smaller. As a result, I became absolutely exhausted,
skinny and sick. However, Angkar commanded six of us to clear vines
in a forest south of Angkor Wat. There I saw a huge pile of bones.
In my
village, Angkar divided labor according to age. The elderly men made
ox-carts, baskets, rice mills, and ropes for tying cows and
buffalos. The elderly women cut banana trees to make mats for drying
rice and looked after children. The adults had to do various kind of
cultivation. The youths worked in the mobile units. The children
were assigned to tend buffalos, and to collect cow dung and water
plants for making natural fertilizer. In addition, Angkar assigned
the base people to observe the 17 April people. Anyone who did not
follow Angkar would be accused of being the enemy.
Angkar of the Super Great Leap Forward planned that the people of
Kha-nat village would cultivate lowland, upland, and floating rice
fields. They worked day and night, but they never had enough food,
even in the harvest season. Some people had banana and papaya trees,
water convolvulus, and various leaves and vegetables to mix with
their watery porridge in order to temporarily sate their hunger. At
night, I secretly planted yams and because of this I became sick.
Later, Angkar ordered me to cut bamboo at Ralom Cheung Spien village
in the northern region where the minority people lived. Then I was
sent to plough in the lowland rice paddies.
One
day, a man who had returned home without informing Angkar was
beaten and tied to a running horse. After that day, we never saw him
again. Another time, a pregnant woman fell on a dike. The Khmer
Rouge militiamen accused her of being lazy. Then they stomped on her
abdomen until she died. We (the 17 April people) discussed this and
decided that if the Khmer Rouge mistreated innocent people like us
again, we would fight for justice to the death.
One
night in 1977 while I was sleeping, a group of Khmer Rouge
militiamen with weapons came to my hut and arrested me. They hit me
with their rifles butt until I pissed. My arms were tied and
handcuffed behind my back. My brother-in-law was also arrested that
night. As the Khmer Rouge led me to the truck, my mother-in-law
cried out loudly, “Where are taking my son to?” They responded
angrily, “We arrest only those who betray Angkar.” All ten prisoners
in the truck were sent to a detention center in Siem Reap. My arms
swelled up, my legs were shackled, and I hurt from the wounds the
Khmer Rouge had given me. I looked around and saw about 300
prisoners who were shackled, sleeping in rows.
When
morning came, five soldiers brought their notebooks to record the
biographies of the new prisoners. The militiaman asked me about my
previous job. I answered that I was a motorbike repairman. In
detention, we had only watery porridge and soup made of banana and
rambutan leaves, and a green vegetable. Two female prisoners cooked
for the prisoners.
Later
the militiamen put me in a small stone cell that was large enough
for only two prisoners. It held a jar and a steel helmet for
containing excrement and urine. Three days later, the Khmer Rouge
put another prisoner in my cell. His name was Sim, a district chief
of Chikreng, who was accused of betraying the revolution. In the
morning, the militiamen would take him out for interrogation. Every
prison guard had keys, a stick, ax, metal pipe, hammer, a walking
stick with a knife hidden inside, and electric wire twisted in
bundle. At noon, they bought him back to detention, and a moment
later the guard would bring a small plate of rice and bowl of soup
for him. Sim would eat half and leave the other half for me. In the
afternoon, he was taken out for questioning again. In the evening,
the guard brought Sim back. He told me in a whisper that if Angkar
asked him whether he betrayed the revolution or not, he would rather
answer “yes” to avoid being hurt. But he would surely die no matter
whether the answer was “yes” or “no.”
A few
days later, the guard unlocked my shackles and ordered me to fix
motorbikes. He led me to a court where I saw a covered truck, three
motorbikes, screwdrivers, and six Khmer Rouge soldiers. “You must
repair these well; otherwise, I will take your life,” they
threatened. With trembling hands, I tried to fix the bikes. At noon,
the guard took me back to prison. In the afternoon, I was taken out
to work again.
One
evening while I was working, a young Khmer Rouge soldier got out of
an A-2 truck and asked me, “How long have you studied fixing
motorbikes?” “I have had this skill since 1968,” I responded. He
then asked, “Did you ever join the army?” “No, never,” I said.
Twenty days later, Sim was taken out to killed, but before that the
militiamen allowed him to wear new clothing and prepared a meal for
him to eat with his wife, who was a chief of the women’s unit in
Chikrek (she, too, was in detention). After that, the militiamen
took him along with 100 other prisoners. Later, his wife was beaten
as punishment by the prison guard. Her face, arms and legs were so
swollen she could hardly walk until the day they killed her.
I was
then moved to a big cell that held 50 prisoners. In the morning, the
militiamen took me out to repair a C-90 motorbike that belonged to
the son of the region chief.
I was
completely desperate and thought that I could never come back home
and meet my family. I ate anything I could find, including,
crickets, grasshoppers, frogs, toads, tadpoles, crabs, and wild
leaves.
One
day, near Thaom Yuth pagoda, a young Khmer Rouge cadre brought me a
bicycle to paint. A lot of Khmer Rouge cadres watched me. Seeing
that I was doing a good job, they brought more bicycles for me to
paint.
All
the working prisoners had to seek permission from the guards before
doing anything, even such mundane activities as going to the toilet,
picking up things to eat, or drinking. If we did something without
their consent, we would be beaten until the Khmer Rouge felt
content. One day, I tried to take a small portion of dry porridge
from the bottom of a pot. But a guard saw me and hit my neck with an
oar until my vision blurred. Another day, I picked up a jackfruit
seed that a guard had thrown away. This time, he told me to kneel
down and then beat me on the waist with a huge stick.
And
one day, another prisoner and I were carrying a pot of porridge that
was hung from a pole when a guard named Sam pushed the other
prisoner. The pole lurched forward, and I fell down. The boiling
porridge, which had just been taken from the fire, burned my legs,
arm, and torso. Because we had no medicine, I collected rotten
banana tree trunks, soaked them in lubricant, and applied the salve
on my wounds. Seven days later, my body swelled up like that of a
corpse. I was miserable for the next three months until I recovered.
If a
prisoner intended to escape, the guards would beat that person to
death. I once witnessed a guard beating a boy. “Why did you run?” he
asked. “I miss my parents so much,” answered the boy. The guard
savagely hit him on his back and said, “Your mother was killed, you
son of traitor!” The boy, too, was murdered the following night.
One
day, a guard ordered me and another prisoner named Sei to repair a
US covered truck at the district court. The truck had been used as a
military ambulance during the Lon Nol regime. While we were mending
it, Sei murmured softly, “Rith, have you ever seen the knife used
for killing people?” “No, never” I answered. Sei said, “If you want
to find out, have a look in back of the driver’s seat.” I peeked in
and saw a rusty, saw-bladed knife covered with blood.
Another day while I was working near the forge, a Khmer Rouge
soldier named Prunh ordered a worker to temper iron and make two
knives with large round handles. Prunh said, “The previous knives
were kind of difficult to use. This time, you have to make it
properly; otherwise, you will die.” On hearing this, I became very
frightened.
In
addition to repairing motorbikes, I carried pots, distributed
helmets the prisoners used as food containers, collected human waste
for making fertilizer, and buried dead prisoners. Because I worked
near the detention center, I saw the trucks bringing new prisoners
and taking the old ones out. On average, 200-300 new prisoners come
in every day, and about the same number were taken away. Sometimes
the Khmer Rouge took the prisoners out twice a day. They were beaten
by the guards each time they were interrogated.
Some
prisoners died in their bad-smelling cells, and others committed
suicide by biting off their tongues, suffocating themselves,
plunging into deep wells, and cutting their veins. Not a single day
had passed without prisoners committing suicide. Every evening, I
had to go from cell to cell to ask whether there was dead person
inside and how many had killed themselves. The corpses were not
wrapped; their wrists and ankles were tied to a pole to be carried
away. The bodies were buried in Thoama Yuth pagoda or an area to the
west of the pagoda. We dug holes that could hold 5 to 10 corpses.
After we buried the bodies, we asked the guard for permission to
pick water convolvulus and bring it home for making soup.
The
detention center had about 60 of Khmer Rouge soldiers as guards.
They would count and record the number of prisoners regularly. Those
young soldiers cursed, beat and did whatever they wanted to the
prisoners. Having been in prison for almost 2 years, 28 prisoners
and I were released and sent to Memai Bridge, about 55 kilometers
from Siem Reap province. Before leaving, the prison chief had
advised me to try my best to fulfill Angkar’s assignments so that I
did not return to prison. Moreover, he gave us 12 pigs. As the truck
drove out of the detention center, I began to feel as if I had come
back to life again. A week after I started working at the bridge, I
heard that my wife, daughter and mother-in-law had been moved and
were living about 4 kilometers away.
On
January 7, 1979, a Vietnamese tank came and we began walking. It
took us five days to reach Siem Reap. Then I left for my home
village in Battambang in order to see my family. When I arrived, my
mother rushed to hug me and burst into tears. Only two of my
siblings were alive. My father was killed by the Khmer Rouge. My
elder brothers Da and Tha died of hunger. My youngest brother Nareth
had his throat cut by the Khmer Rouge. When the first cut did not
kill him, he struggled to crawl out of the grave. But the Khmer
Rouge saw him and cut him again until he died. My sister-in-law
became a widow with five children after the Khmer Rouge murdered her
husband. They poured gasoline over my sister-in-law Ton and set her
on fire, leaving her three children orphans.
I
managed to survive because I was skilled at repairing motorbikes. I
would like to appeal to the Cambodian people not to be misled by
communism. I would like to declare to all Cambodian compatriots that
I cherish democracy. I would like to ask both the national and
international courts to find justice for me as well as for the three
million innocent Khmer citizens who died during the regime. Please
make the Khmer Rouge tribunal a reality as soon as possible. |
