Story Genocide narrative

I wrote this narrative for my freshman speech and I decided to share it with you guys. Its about the KIhmer Rouge genocide during the 1970s. Its a bit graphic but the truth. Enjoy.


Regret

July 19, 1974
Remote village, Cambodia.
The buzz of insects and sounds of feet on the dirt road wake me up. Stretching, I get out of my cot. “Chann! get into the fields. We need to gather our harvest.” shouts my mother with her strict tone. Grumbling, I walk to the other side of our one room hut and sit down to a small bowl of rice. Famished, I eat the small ration of rice to provide energy for the long day in the fields. With little food in my stomach, I make my way to the community fields. As I walk along the rough dirt path, I look around to observer our neighbors bent over in the rice paddies gathering their crop of rice for our village. A short breeze of wind is a relief from the 95 degree weather everyday. Rocks that cover the road do not bother me as I have gotten used to the pain. Splashes of water fill the serene atmosphere. I reach a rice paddy not many people on it and I begin to gather rice plants
I put the rice plants into a basket. I was born on July 24, 1958. My mother Chenda Seng and my father Chakra Suon married in 1949. I was raised to work in the paddies since age 7. My father taught me to how to read and write. My favorite thing to do on a day of rest is football with my friends Bona and Boran. They also work in the rice paddies most of the week. Working as a rice farmer does not provide enough income for my family. My mother sewed the clothing for herself, my father and I. Once we would grow out of our clothes, they would be handed down to neighbors who needed clothes that would fit. Our village worked together. If anyone had surplus goat milk, it would be distributed equally.
My favorite thing to do on a clear starry night was to lay on the ground with Bona. We would look up and see millions of stars shining brightly. Bona dreamed of going into space and seeing the stars up close. I always wanted to fly an airplane. Bona and I had one life goal we shared. Our goal was to live in the United States of America. Hearing about the luxurious life in the United States fascinated us. However, our village and our families needed all the help they could get.
As the sun beats on our backs, sweat covers my face as I speed up my pace so I would not fall behind. Hours pass as I move farther into the paddy. My backs begins to ache really painfully so I stand up. I observe fellow neighbors working endlessly in the blazing summer sun.
Suddenly I spot clouds of dust drawing near our village. I instantly knew what this meant. Filled with fear and anxiety, I start running towards the edge of the paddy. “Hey, get back to work!” shouts the man. Water and mud splash as I run. Reaching the road, I run towards my hut. My heart races faster and faster. The wind brushes against my face as I run along the rocky dirt road. Behind me, the smell of exhaust fumes from trucks grow closer. I reach my hut out of breath. “Mother, the Khmer soldiers have arrived. Warn father!” I shout in exhaustion and panic. Catching my breath, sweat begins to perspire from my face. Suddenly, the convoy of trucks shut and the thud of military boots sends a surge of fear into my body. “Chann, father is in the center of the village.” shouted mother in a panicked voice.
The humming of the engines send my hair straight up. Slam! The sound of metal doors shutting echo. The sound of boots crunching stops behind me.
“All young men go to the center of village now!” shouted a deep voice. Nervously, I turn around to see a soldier with a gun slung over his shoulders. The stench of cigarettes is unbearable. His tall muscular body towers over me making me feel helpless and intimidated. “Yes sir!” I respond trembling with fear. I hurry to the center of the village. Behind me, I could hear the soldiers searching in the huts for young men trying to hide.
A mother was begging for the soldiers to leave her child alone. Crack! A shot rang out from the hut. Anger and distress wash over my body as I hurry to the center of the village. In the center of the village, all the young men are lined up with guns pointed at them. My stomach twists. Boys from the rice paddies stand in line. Muddy water drips from their hands. My friends Bona and Boran look at me in panic and face forward.“Now listen up!” Shouted a soldier. “You have to join us and fight Lon Nol. Our goal is to create the perfect Cambodia. Lon Nol is backed by the imperialist Americans. He is letting us suffer. We will stop him. No one will suffer if we succeed.” The soldier’s speech echoed in the air. The heavy breathing of others makes the atmosphere unpleasant.
“Once our victory is sealed, everyone will be equal. If you do not join us, you will pay the consequences! Get in the trucks!” The threat of possible death made all of us climb into the trucks. Bona and Boran sit next to me.
A soldier climbs in with us and stares at our panicked faces. Anxiety washed over me. I did not know what was going to happen to me or my fellow neighbors. The trucks began to pull out of our village. The bumpy dirt road jolts us in the back of the military truck. Dust, exhaust fumes, and the smell of manure very strong.
“Do not disobey them. You will probably be killed.” said one of the boys. His voice trembling. “Silence! One more word and you will be shot!” shouted the soldier. I quickly glanced and saw the soldier’s face. I glance down at his hands and see his finger on the trigger of his weapon. The size of the large magazine sends a chill down my back. I figured that the gun had enough bullets to kill us all if we did not do what we were told. I look back only to see my home village vanish in the dust. All was lost. Solemnly, I face forward not knowing my fate.

April 17, 1975
Phnom Penh, Cambodia
Cheers of joy and triumph echo in the streets of Phnom Penh. A fake smile is plastered on my face as I march in celebration on the streets. People line the street with excitement as they see columns of victorious Khmer Rouge soldiers. They were glad that the civil war between Lon Nol’s forces and the Khmer Rouge had ended. The people were hopeful that ever lasting peace would ensue. Some were nervous and anxious. The sound of marching boots and cheers cast a rhythm of pride. My AK- 47 slung on my back bounces as I march. The hot summer sun beats down on our heads. Sweat from the heat falls down my face. My friend Bona glances at me in sheer terror and I nod back. I did not want to join the Khmer Rouge fighting force at all. Neither did Boran and Bona. When we were forced to join the Khmer Rouge fighting force, I had to lie and say that I do not know how to read. Whoever could read and were educated would be killed. This was part of Saloth Sar’s Year Zero goal. Saloth Sar or known as Pol Pot who was a radical believer in Communism wanted to rebuild Cambodia to its pre-Buddhist medieval Kingdom status. He was going to convert Cambodia to an entirely agricultural country.
The methods the Khmer Rouge used gain the people’s support was in my opinions very effective. The Khmer Rouge would play music on large speakers capable of being heard from over 5 kilometers away. The distance the sound waves was incredible. Often time, I would be marching in formation and hear the music which would vary from the weather or season. Marching through villages, the people would be working for countless hours in the rain while music that had a relationship to rain would blare. The music most importantly encouraged us Cambodians to evaluate ourselves and perform self improvement. Whenever we passed through villages, there would be slogans painted on the walls and encouraging Cambodians to join the Khmer Rouge. Many young Cambodians joined the Khmer Rouge hoping to bring equality to Cambodia. Others like Bona and I were forced to join the Khmer Rouge. The goal of the Khmer Rouge was to create the perfect agricultural society and gain the support of the entire country of Cambodia. Markets and newspapers were shut down. Rich farmers, landlords, shop owners, teachers and any other people with an educated background were considered to be aiding in the exploitation of poor people. These people were sent to the numerous prison camps and communal farms created by the Khmer Rouge.
Despite Pol Pot’s expectations of success, everything from what I have seen was not the expected results. While we recruited soldiers from villages, the negative effects of the Year Zero were spreading like disease. People were suffering from malnutrition. Many died from starvation. The stench of dead Cambodians from starvation was horrifying. The people who could no longer work would collapse to the side of the road and die. Their bodies emitting a stench I would never forget. The smell of rotting flesh and decaying organs at first made me throw up. But as time passed, my nose was used to the stench of decaying bodies. However, the sight always disturbed me. Maggots would crawl all over bodies. Some bodies would be entirely covered with a mass of white, disgusting maggots.
I remember one night we slept in an empty village. There we bodies on the sides of the dirt road. The next day, I saw a corpse moved by maggots. The sight was gruesome. It was amazing how maggots could move bodies. Boran who could no longer stand seeing death had committed suicide that night. Boran said his final goodbye to Bona and I before he committed suicide. He lost faith in God and had given up with no hope of salvation from God.
To Khmer Rouge soldiers, anyone who fought against the Khmer Rouge were enemies. Soldiers fighting for Lol Nol who surrendered to us were shot. Many times, I had the duty to shoot them. Guilt and regret always affected me for a long time after executing the soldiers. Every bullet into their head made my load of regret and guilt heavier each time. Those whom I killed were just fellow Cambodians like me but just wore a different uniform. We were all soldiers fighting for our beliefs.
The human behind the uniform would look at me with sheer terror and would plead to be spared. Often times they would say they have a wife and children. The pleads overwhelmed my emotions. I would sometimes have tears running down my face when the other Khmer Rouge soldiers were not looking at me. I have not tried to desert the Khmer Rouge soldiers. The punishment of death used to send a chill down my spine. But as my thoughts linger on it, it does seem like a reasonable way to escape this never ending nightmare. However Bona just wants to escape and I do not want to leave him behind. Our friendship is still strong despite our situation.
Our victory march ends. By now, the people of Phnom Penh start to scatter and return to their homes and businesses. Our commander orders us to to gather nearby. “The Khmer Government issued us an order to help in the evacuation of the cities. The cities will be abandoned. We are ordered to help evacuate Phnom Penh. The hospitals will be emptied. I need you to clear the floors. If anyone cannot get out of their bed, push them off. We do not have a lot of time. Food for the refugees will be provided outside of the city.” explained our commander. “Yes sir!” echoed the voices of Khmer Rouge Soldiers. Immediately, we dispersed on our ways to the hospital.
Down the road was a hospital. We approach the doors and burst in. “Everyone out in the street now!” I shouted. The panicked faces of the nurses, doctors, and patients send a surge of sorrow into me. The hospitals received the message, but were struggling to evacuate at a fast pace.
“Hurry up!” shouts Bona. Nurses and doctors hurry even faster. We were told that the cities would be bombed and we needed to evacuate the people to safety. I however did not believe that the cities would be bombed. Besides, who would want to kill innocent people?
I spot a nurse shaking telling a patient in a cast to get ready to leave. I approach the room the nurse is in and I order her to remove him at once. Raising my AK-47, I put the barrel to a nurses head.
“Move faster.” I shout fiercely. The nurse ignores me. She turns around. “No! This man cannot walk. He needs someone to help him” retorts the nurse. Her face in sheer distress catches my eye. Knowing my orders, I slam my rifle butt into her head. The blow to her cranium cracks her skull. I heard the skull crack. Crying in pain the nurse crumples to the floor. To cease her suffering, I put a bullet to her head. I look down. My pants and boots were covered by her blood and brain matter. Half of her head rolled to the side. It is a gruesome sight. I approach the man and lift his sheets
”Please don’t harm me! I cannot walk.” pleaded the man. Tears and sweat reflect on his aging face. I would have let this man stay on his bed but there were soldiers nearby shoving patients who could not get up out of their beds. I shove him off of his bed and he tumbles to the floor. The man shouts in pain. Tears seep from his eyes. I raise my gun and shot him in the head. I could hear his head exploding. Blood and brain matter splatter on the wall. Blood oozes from his half exploded skull. I could clearly see the inside of his brain. The sight was horrific. The smell of gunpowder and burning flesh is nauseating. I had to put him out of his misery. I knew this man would not last long at all. I turn around and leave the room.
All around me, patients stagger towards the door. Cries and moans of the wounded make the atmosphere of the hospital unbearable for me. Ra ta ta! Echoes an AK-47 in the next hospital room. I look inside and see a nurse riddled with bullets. Blood pours from her wounds and half of her head is splattered all over the floor. The once white floor was now was now stained with death and murder. Her patient was dead on his hospital bed. The white hospital sheets soaked with blood. I saw the patient’s trachea exposed with a knife stabbed in it. My stomach lurches and I throw up. My vomit splatters on the floor. Wiping the vomit off my mouth, I leave the room.
The reeking stench of stomach acids, burnt flesh, and brain matter is sickening. A soldier smiles with glee. This soldier clearly had no heart or sympathy for those who were suffering. Unable to look at the sight, I exit and head towards the stairs to the next floor. On the second floor, it is chaos just like below. Patients cry in pain as they are being shoved off of their beds. Slowly,the nurses and patients that are able to walk start to trudge to the stairs. I head downstairs and whack people with my rifle butt who do not move fast enough. Once the last person leaves the hospital, I do not look back at the carnage and head out on the street.
Columns of people clog the street. I start running with my rifle at ready. “Move faster you sloths! We do not have much time!” I shout to the column of people. Suddenly a man dashes out of the line towards a shop. I lift my rifle and pull the trigger. The man crumples to the ground. I dash past the long column of people being herded like oxen. By the time we leave the city, countless numbers of people unable to continue the march fall down and get trampled. Soldiers fire shots in the air to speed up the movement. Seeing the chaos and death, where was God? I pray for salvation and the end of the suffering. Year Zero has started.
Every once in a while, gunshots ring out. The sound of boots crunching on the dirt and cries from infants casts a depressing attitude into the atmosphere. The smell of sweat, dirt, and gunpowder fill the air. As hours pass, sweat perspires from my face. I am tired, but I must not prove myself to be weak. The heavy breathing of the people is unbearable. Some people unable to continue much longer fell to the dirt road and were trampled to death. Cries and moans of the weak were muffled as they were trampled. The sight was tough to watch. Tired, young and old Cambodians trudge along. I even saw some toss their belongings in order to move with much more ease.
A soldier runs to me and passes on a message. “We have a five minute rest. Alert the people.” I nod and turn to the column of people. “Five minute rest. No more!” I shout.
The slouched people with their meager possessions cast a sigh of relief and sit on the dirt road. Instead of sitting, I lean against a tree and sip from my canteen.
“Only 4 sips.” I told myself as I quenched my thirst. There was a long way to go and I wanted to make sure I had enough water. The people converse in a hush tone. I happen to overhear a conversation. “I don’t know how long we will have to walk for. There is not enough food for all of us. We should try and take some of the guards out,” says a short man. A soldier next to me also hears the man and slams his rifle butt into the man’s head. A moan of pain does not slip his mouth. People next to him petrified in terror go silent. Looking at the faces of innocent children reminds me of my home village.
Ever since I was separated from my family, their fate has always eaten away at me. I sometimes wonder if they were killed or were sent to work on communal farms. Vivid memories with them at celebrations pop up in my mind. Memories of football with Boran and Bona remind myself of the joys of life.
“Get up! We are moving again!” shouts a soldier in a threatening tone five minutes later. The people stand up wishing the break lasted longer. Those who could not get up were kicked aside. The march continues. By nightfall, we have stopped for the night. People who lost family members during the day cry and comfort each other in the dark. I find a small patch of grass and find a rock to rest my head upon. Above me, the stars shine brightly in the sky. The peaceful buzz of insects reminds myself of the beauty of nature. Memories of my home village bring tears to my eyes. “Be strong” I tell myself. Blocking the days events, I fall asleep.

July 24, 1975
Toul Sleng 21
“Get in the truck! You are being transported to a different camp. Move!” I shout at innocent Cambodians who climb into canvas covered trucks. Whimpers of women and children in the dark send chills down my spine. Ever since I was assigned to be a guard at S21 which is a torture camp, my experiences have been more traumatizing than the hospital in Phnom Penh. As a guard, I work for Kang Kek Ieu. Kang Kek Ieu or as we called him Brother Dutch was ruthless. His stern face and ruthless attitude sent fear into the prisoners and guards. As guards at S21, Bona and I were terrified of Dutch.
Often, I had heard screams and cries emitting from the torture rooms. The people here had to admit to false accusations about being a threat to Pol Pot’s regime. Soldiers from the interrogation room told stories of prisoners tied to a metal bed and being tortured.The people would have to admit to false accusations about working for the CIA and KGB. Some people who protested the work they had to do were sent to S21. Foreigners, people who wore glasses, and educated people were prime torture victims.
One torture event I would never forget happened three days ago. Innocent Cambodians were led outside into the playground. However, it was converted into a torture ground. The swings on the swing set were removed. rope hung from the bar. The people were tied by the feet and lowered into pots of water. They were submerged underwater without any air. Those who survived would be lifted out and would be gasping for air. Their choking and struggling was brutal to watch. I remember seeing a young man who confessed to false accusations get tied by his feet and lowered until his head was submerged. His screams were muffled but audible. The man shortly died.
Once the trucks are full, I climb into the back of the truck with thirty prisoners and three other Khmer Rouge soldiers. The eyes of prisoners look at us wide open in fear. The trucks began to lurch forward. As the trucks drive along the road, plans to defect and escape swim around in my mind. I could jump out and hide in the woods but then I would probably be found.The buzz of insects is drowned out by the trucks. Soon, the trucks grind to a halt. I get up and climb out of the truck. My boots hit the dirt.
“Get out! Hurry up!” I shouted. The stench of death is tough to deal with. Once everyone is out of the trucks, we herd them into wooden shacks and lock the door. The Peng begins to list of names. The duty of the Peng is to make sure all the chosen prisoners are accounted for. As the Peng goes down the list of prisoners, I heard a name I would never forget. Chenda Seng.
A knot twists in my stomach. At this moment I almost threw up. Trembling to the bone, I fear having to kill my mother with my own hands. My mother being killed by their own son almost put me into a mental breakdown.
“I can’t do this. I am her only son. If I kill her, there probably would be no one left to come home to.” I said to myself. Thoughts were milling around in my head. “If I do this, I will be a disgrace to my family. God wants me to do what is right, for my family. This is not what God wants me to do.
The soldier finishes listing the names and we head inside to kill them. I was a soldier and I must obey orders. Lights inside the shack turn on. The faces of countless women, men, children look at me. Their eyes pleading to be saved. I work my way around people to not kill my parents. Suddenly, my mom sees me and breaks down into sobs. “Silence!” shouts a soldier. He bashes his rifle butt into her head. “You! get over here!” demands the young soldier. He was talking to me. Nervously, I manage to find my way to her. Perspiration begins to drip from my hands. I pull out my knife. Killing prisoners with bullets was too “expensive” to use. Instead, hand tools were used. I put my dirty, blood stained knife to her throat and hesitated. Knowing my orders, I slit her throat.
Blood pours from her throat and she falls to the blood stained concrete floor. I look down at my hands to see them drenched in my mother’s blood.
“Sorry mother. I did not want to do this .” I whispered to her holding back tears. She was already dead but I could not help myself. I had slain my one of my parents. Nothing else in life is worse than killing a family member. As I look around the room, all I see is bloody bodies, Blood spurts from throats like fountains. A woman cries out in pain and a soldier repeatedly bashes her head with a metal pipe. Blow after blow to her cranium knocks her unconscious. The pipe now glistening red. Some people were stabbed multiple times in the stomach. A woman probably no more than twenty four was stabbed multiple times in the stomach. Her blood curdling screams and cries was ringing in my ears. Bloods trickles out of the wound. Her cries echoed in the room bouncing off of the walls. She fell over to her side with her clothing soaked with blood. The concrete floor stained with pools of dried and undried blood depict a sick making pattern. Once everyone is killed, we have to carry out the bodies. the knot twists tighter in my stomach as I carry out my mother’s limp body. Outside, a trench is dug and we toss the bodies into the pit without respect. The smell of burning flesh and gasoline fills my nose.
On the other side of the killing field, dead Americans are tossed into a pit of fire. Dutch’s orders were to burn any foreigners until no bones remained. I lift my shovel and toss earth onto the bodies of innocent bodies. As we toss earth into the pit, blood still seeps from the bodies creating a lake of blood. When we are finished, we trudge over to ditch to wash off our knives and hands. Done for the night, we take the trucks back to S21.
As I ride in the back, my emotions overwhelm me. I feel like crying but there were others in the back of the truck. The this has been too much for me. I need to escape before its too late. Before I can think of a reasonable way to escape, the truck arrives back at S21. By now, its 9:56 PM. I jump out of the truck and walk to the soldier barracks. My shift was done for the day. My boots stained with blood echoe in the barracks. The stench of unwashed bodies and death is overwhelming. I take my boots off and place them on the barrack floor. Tired and depressed, I climb onto my bunk. I begin to contemplate on my ruined life. “Why do I have to do this God? I do not want to take part of this.?” I always wondered why the world does nothing about the killings.
Bona walks in shortly after and sits next to me. “Chann, what did Dutch have you do today?” asked Bona in a hushed whisper.
“I had to kill prisoners at the killing fields. The person I killed was my mother. She looked at with with disbelief and sadness. I had no choice. If I disobeyed my orders, Dutch would have me potentially killed. You know that Dutch has no soul” I whispered.
“Chenn, I cannot imagine the deep regret and shame you had to deal with.” replied Bona. He understood how it felt to kill someone you knew. Bona had to kill his aunt in the killing fields last month. He still cannot get the image of his dead aunt out of his mind. Bona and I swiftly end our conversation. If someone heard our conversation, we could be killed for being an enemy of the Khmer Rouge. Bona gets up and walks to his bunk and lays down exhausted. I block out the days events and force myself to sleep.

January 14, 1979
Outskirts of Phnom Penh
The thunder of North Vietnamese echoes in the death ridden atmosphere. Boom! Boom! Gunfire echoes in the distance. We were told that the North Vietnamese invaded Cambodia. I later found out that Pol Pot had invaded Vietnam and they were retaliating. The smell of smoke, gunpowder, and rotting flesh taint the air. We were assigned to do daily patrols near S21 since the North Vietnamese captured Phnom Penh. Salvation was getting closer and closer. Bona and I held the rear guard. I was hoping for the North Vietnamese to come quickly.
The bird’s songs were drowned out by the sounds of artillery and the rattle of machine guns. The hot summer sun beats down on us as we patrol the road. Perspiration covers my face. Bona and I look each other in the eyes and nod. We aim our AK-47s at the four guards ahead of us and shoot. Ra ta ta ta! Our AK-47’s rattle spitting out bullets into the four guards. One of my bullets catch one of the guards in the jaw. He shouts out in pain as the bullets shattered his jaw. He collapses to the ground bleeding profusely. Coughing, he spits out a mouthful of blood and teeth.
“Cry all you want. You deserve this!” I whisper angrily into his ear.Bona inspects his victims. Blood and brain matter litter the dirt road. “Bona, hand me a lit cigarette” I ask. Bona hands me one and lights it. I did not smoke, but Bona did. Looking down on the soldier, I turn his head towards me. Blood, torn flesh, and dirt cover his face.The smell of burnt flesh rises up into the air. I jab the lit end of the cigarette into his left eye. His right eye opens wide open in horror. He does not shout in pain. The smell of burning eyes do not bother me this time. “Deal with it. You deserve it!” I whisper harshly. I press the cigarette in his eyes for 2 minutes. I take the cigarette out of his eye. For two minutes, the soldier endures torture worse than being suffocated underwater. The burn from the cigarette etches a burn mark in his bloodied eye. Pulling out my pistol, I put a bullet into his head. The sound of his head exploding for once does not bother me. The stench of gunpowder and burning flesh emits into the air.
“Bona, drag the bodies into the woods and cover them” I order. I toss my empty magazine into the woods and reload my gun. The smell of gunpowder is very subtle. Smoke rises from my AK-47’s barrel. I watch Bona drag the bodies into the woods. Leaves covered in blood glint in the blazing sunlight. Once Bona finishes hiding the bodies,we toss our weapons and grenades into the forest. Only taking our canteens, we trudge to the forest and lay low.
“Bona, camouflage yourself. We will wait until the North Vietnamese arrive.” I whisper. I cover myself in cool mud. Bona and I begin to wait. The chirp of birds and buzz of insects is so peaceful where we are. However, the echo of machine gunfire and artillery disturbs the tranquility. As hours pass, insects bite at my skin. The bites are sharp, but keep me awake. By nightfall, Bona and I begin to take three hour shifts on watch duty. Hunger and thirst eat away at my sore, tired body. I must conserve my water. We did not know how long we would be in hiding for. As two days pass, Bona and I fight back hunger and thirst. My parched mouth begs for water. However, I fight back the urge to drink from my canteen. I reflect on my actions and how I could’ve done more to save people’s lives.
Thoughts of family and memories in our old village appear in my mind and tears stream down my mud covered face. Seeing innocent Cambodians being brainwashed by propaganda troubled me. I remember seeing a six year old planting land mines in a field. The fact that a six year old was planting land mines to kill people terrified me. Out of the many things he could do in his life, he is wasting his talent and using to to plant killing devices.
“Why must the world be this way?” I ask myself. “What was the true purpose of me as a human being?” “God, why aren’t you doing anything about this? You have the power. Just do something to spare those who are suffering.”
Visions of my killing keep on appearing in my mind. Thoughts about salvation from the fighting swim about my head as I wait for my rest shift to come. When its my turn, I block out the memories of both past and present, and I fall into a deep sleep.
The next day, Bona and I hear the sounds of North Vietnamese barking out orders. The voices echos in the hot, sticky summer air. Salvation at last! God has answered my prayers.
“Bona, shout we surrender. Walk slowly up to them. Do not make any gestures that could provoke them.” I whisper. He nods his head.
“We surrender!” shouted Bona. A few soldiers stop and watch Bona get up with his hands held high. I follow. Mud falls off my filthy uniform. “Do not make any sudden movements!” a soldier shouts at us. Cries of joy spring from my eyes. We wade through tall grass and approach the road. Bona and I are shoved onto the road as they search us for weapons.
“Don’t shoot us. we have been trying to defect!” says Bona. They look at him with dubious expressions. “Take them to the camp!” The commander shouts. Bona and I are lead to a prisoner rally point. We had survived and defected. Both Bona and I fall to our knees crying tears of joy. I say a prayer of thanks.

June 23, 2013
Boston, Massachusetts
I wake up with sweat pouring down my face. The beeps of cars emit from the outside streets. I look at my clock. 1:30 am. I try and slow down my heavy breathing.
“It is all over. I am not im Cambodia anymore. Mother is in a better place now.” I told myself. Holding my sheets, I begin to cry. Ever since I had to kill my own mother, I sometimes wake up the the middle of the night thinking I just killed her.
After we surrendered to the North Vietnamese, Bona and I were interrogated. I told them how I did not want to sign up for any of the actions. I was forced to kill people and I could not disobey my orders. The interrogation lasted for 1 hour. In the end, I was sent to a prisoner of war camp with Bona in Vietnam. In 1990, we were released and both of us stayed in Vietnam. We worked with all our effort to earn enough money to move to the United States of America. I did not want to go back to my home village. Bona and I worked at factories, stores, and did small jobs for people to earn money. In 2012, Bona and I managed to get enough to take a flight to the United States.
The advances in technology the world has made amazed bona and I. We never thought device such as the computer and television would be so useful. Mobile phones and laptops were all new to us. When Bona and I took our flight to the United States, the size of the jet and the amount of passengers it could take blew our minds. While people were calmly waiting to take off, Bona and I were talking back and forth in excitement. Many passengers looked at us with dubious expressions. All of this technology was too much for us. Eventually, Bona and I relaxed and rested. I dreamed of meeting mother in heaven. When our flight landed, in New York City, Bona and I were in the United States with Visas. We applied for citizenship for in the United States of America. Bona and I took the citizenship test and become official citizens of the United States of America on June 23, 2012. Bona and I never would know about the fate of our remaining family members.
Adjusting to city life is still a struggle. Learning the English language was very hard for us. Despite our efforts, we still have broken English. Finding work was tough. Writing up our resumes and explaining our past was the toughest moment. Whenever we had interviews, they looked at us in disgust. I was denied work 12 times. Bona got sympathy from a shop owner and now works at a local pizza parlor. Eventually I got a job as a store clerk at a video store. It is sometimes difficult to communicate with customers but atleast I have a job. I remember last night someone was renting the movie, The Killing Fields which was about the Khmer Rouge. I instantly broke into tears. The customer was confused. A co -worker had to move me off to the side to recover.My manager led me to his office and asked me is ther eas anything he could do to help. I told him to educate his family about the effects of genocides and explain how they should not be overlooked. Bona and I rent apartments next to each other. Visions of S21 affect both of us. We tried going to classes to lessen the effects of PTSD, but with little success.
I always wanted to know how many died during the Khmer Rouge. Using the internet, I looked up the deaths and I started crying in my seat. About 1.7 million people had died. Deep regret hit me. Knowing that I had contributed to some of the deaths, guilt and anger washed over me. I also looked up to see when Pol Pot Died. I found out he died on April 15, 1998 at age 73. I was glad that the disgraceful leader to Cambodia had died. I told Bona about this and he was shocked about the death toll. He was happy that Pol Pot had died. Bona and I yet still to find out if Dutch was ever arrested and sentenced to the death penalty. Bona and I had to find a way to tell the world about Pol Pot’s killings through the eyes of a perpetrator.
We decided to talk to local charities and schools about the horrors of genocides and the effects on everyone. Every weekend, we travel to different charities in Boston to tell the ugly truth. Many times, I would break into tears when I told both young and old Americans about having to kill my own mother. To an extent, they understood what I went through and how I am trying to cope with the effects. Bona would tell his stories and have the same reaction.
Yesterday, Bona and I were asked to speak to a high school class about genocide. Bona and I gladly accepted. Standing in front of the classroom, Bona and I introduced ourselves. “My name is Chann. I was a perpetrator during the Khmer Rouge. I am blessed to see all of you living life to the fullest.” Bona introduced himself.
“My name is Bona and I was also a perpetrator during the khmer rouge. Chann and I grew up a a small remote village in Cambodia together. We enjoyed working in the fields and seeing the beauty of nature…….. It was the year 1974. Khmer Rouge soldiers came to our villages and forced us to join them. They said we were fighting Lol Nol who was backed by the imperialist Americans. There was no backing out. The Khmer Rouge under the authority of Saloth Sar who was known as Pol Pot was going to transform Cambodia into an agricultural country with no industry or businesses. Chann and I were trained how to shoot weapons and we became Khmer Rouge soldiers.” Bona said to the students. They looked at him with interest and waited for him to continue. Bona gave me a chance to speak.
“When the Khmer Rouge took control of Phnom Penh, the capital city of Cambodia on April 15, 1975, Bona and I had to help evacuate a hospital. Those who could not get up were shoved off of their beds. I had to shoot many people. It was traumatizing……” I told the class.
Bona and I talked in front of the class for one and a half hours. When I told the class that I had to slit the throat of my own mother, they were horrified. This was always the toughest part about telling the people what the I had to do.When we finish, the teacher thanked us and we thank him for inviting us. The students asked us many questions. “Why did you not try and save your mother?” asked a young girl. “I could not do anything about it. If I spoke up, I would have been killed.” I replied. Bona and I left the high school saddened, but proud that the actions of the Khmer Rouge have been explained to the future generation of the United States.
Life in the Unites States has been a blessing for Both Bona and I. We are lucky to have survived and are thankful. I pray that the past never repeats itself. We as the survivors can make a difference in the world. Bona and I just got to take it into our own hands and educate the next generation about genocides and its effects on the perpetrators and victims.

 

@BrawlerAce_ can you move this to literature?

sorry about the spacing. I copied it from google docs. I did not want to retype it.

 

Thanks. I will remember that.