Then a soldier turned, ominously, toward the young Chhun. "Are you his son?" the soldier asked.
"No," Chhun responded. "I'm a visitor."
Chhun after the failed coup
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Chhun and his mother later carried Yem Kong's body, with his head, to the nearby forest, where they wrapped it in a cloth and buried it near a mango tree. As Chhun recounted the saga to Dr. Sacks three decades later, he wept profusely.
SURVIVING
After the execution of his father, Chhun was sent to a work camp, where he toiled day and night in rice fields as one of the millions of slaves of the Khmer Rouge's "people's revolution." Chhun supplemented his rice gruel by eating grasshoppers, termites, snakes and even rats. Still, he lost so much weight that he came to look like a skeleton wrapped in taut skin.
"I cried every night, getting only a few hours' sleep, and I kept asking myself why I had to be born in Cambodia, and not in the United States," he wrote to the judge. "I couldn't understand why I had to be punished and tortured as an innocent young man who was just growing up."
Later, the Khmer Rouge used him on suicide missions. They shackled him to a rocket launcher and forced him to crawl toward enemy lines to fire at Vietnamese enemies; strapped his body to a machine gun and tripod to hold it steady; and forced him to search murky forest soil for landmines. One time, Chhun told Dr. Sacks, he stepped on a mine. It blew him into the air. Somehow he was only slightly injured, but it killed a man who was with him.
As the Khmer Rouge regime weakened under the weight of its self-destructive nationalist paranoia, Chhun rediscovered his mother, alive. In memory of his father, they went to place a ceremonial rice cake at a Buddhist temple, but Chhun was so famished that he "stole" the offering, scraped the ants off and ate it, he told the psychiatrist.
By the start of 1979, as the Khmer Rouge crumbled in the face of a fast-moving assault by its former Communist patrons in Vietnam, Chhun fled like hundreds of thousands of others toward the Thai border region. He began to understand the true scale of the Khmer Rouge's terror. There were too many corpses to count. He witnessed executions by clubbing, suffocation in plastic bags and stabbing with bamboo sticks — none of which required the squandering of bullets better used to fend off the Vietnamese.
But it was only later that Chhun discovered the full impact of the Khmer Rouge's Talibanesque interpretation of Maoism. The regime's mismanagement, incompetence and cruelty — which included torturing improbable confessions out of "enemies of the people" and then doing the same to the people accused in those confessions — caused the deaths of more than one Cambodian in five, nearly 2 million people. During the nearly four-year Khmer Rouge reign of terror, two of Chhun's aunts and seven of his immediate cousins starved to death. Besides his father, his uncle and other close family members were executed.
While the Khmer Rouge was responsible for its many crimes — and Vietnam and the United States certainly prepared the terrain as they sucked neighboring Cambodia into their war — no one was held responsible in any credible courtroom. To Chhun, Cambodians were victims of the worst crimes imaginable, but decades passed with no sign of justice.
The Communist Vietnamese forces that ousted the Khmer Rouge in 1979 were seen initially as liberators, at least until they installed a pliant regime and remained a highly visible foreign presence, when they graduated to "occupiers" whose ceremonious withdrawal only came in 1988.
The most enduring figure in the Vietnamese-friendly government was a former low-level Khmer Rouge commander who fled to Vietnam to avoid internal purges. The Vietnamese chose the young man, Hun Sen, as Cambodia's "foreign minister" and then promoted him in the mid-1980s to prime minister. He has retained that title for more than a quarter-century.
The result, for many middle-aged Cambodians, is that Hun Sen embodies the unresolved horrors of the Khmer Rouge, the national humiliation of the Vietnamese occupation and the stunningly corrupt political system that he oversees today.
For Chhun, Hun Sen became a natural stand-in for his personal tragedies and Cambodia's enduring suffering.
AMERICAN DREAMS
After the Khmer Rouge fell, Chhun reached a desperate, overcrowded Kao I Dang refugee camp on the Thai-Cambodian border, where he spent a year and a half. After a seven-month stint in a refugee center in the Philippines, he was granted refugee status by the United States. In 1982, he arrived in Georgia and eventually migrated to California, became an American citizen and went to college. But like so many of his exiled compatriots, he couldn't leave behind the instability and horrors that defined his adolescence and early adulthood.
Chhun became an accountant, dealing with the arithmetic of clients' incomes and calculating their civil responsibility to their government in the form of tax payments. The firm logic of numbers likely provided solidity to a young man who had little. He didn't just move to a world of strip malls and traffic jams; it was more basic than that. There was electricity and running water, private property and a government that tried to work for the people rather than enslaving them.