Bamboo Promise

On a hot morning, April 17, 1975, the day after our New Year celebrations in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, artillery bombing shook our house like a thunderstorm carried in on a monsoon wind. My dogs barked incessantly, alarmed by the sounds of bombs and guns – noises that had been far away before this day. Mimi, who rarely barked at anything, was frightened by the loud noise; he barked for a few seconds, then gave up and came to quietly sit by me with his tail between his legs. The other dogs gave up challenging the firing and ran to hide underneath the table and chairs. They all sensed something ominous was afoot.
We had endured those distant sounds during my wedding barely four months earlier, but now it seemed as if the war was next door. Mid-morning, I looked out the gate to see neighbors leaving their houses heading towards the main street, edging past cars backing down our street. When I stepped outside, I saw others waving homemade white flags, dancing, hugging each other and cheering, “Hurrah, Hurrah! We finally have peace. The war is ended! No more rocket shells! No more killing! No more corruption! We are socialist. We are equal.”
These people were trying to convince whoever might be watching that they were happy, but in reality, they were as terrified as I was. We all smelled danger coming. We didn’t know what would happen, but many, like my father, still had hope that the Khmer Rouge (KR) would settle the regime in a peaceful way when they took over. Papa had left for his job in the national government earlier in the day, so he was not home to help us understand what was happening and we were very worried about him. I felt panic begin to rise in my throat with all the confusing activity in the street. Was it true the KR had taken over the government? Where was Papa? Who would protect us?
Black-clad KR soldiers began to arrive in the main street.  They wore the same hard expressions I had seen when Papa, in his capacity as a top government minister, had invited some KR representatives to our house for a negotiating dinner. My heart dropped at the sight of them. My hands and my feet felt paralyzed. When I recovered from the initial shock, I ran back inside right into Stepmother who was frozen with panic in the doorway. Soon we began to hear cars speeding down the street. Riding on them were very young KR soldiers, some as young as ten, and all with the same cold and angry faces.
Then Papa drove up. He also seemed confused with what was going on. He told us that he had changed his mind about trying to get to work and that he had sent Un, our chauffeur, home to be with his family. As Papa stood in the gate, we were surprised to see a man we knew among the black-uniformed KR soldiers. It was Sambath, a man that Papa had hired to work at his pharmaceutical plant. The truck slowed down a little at the gate and Papa caught Sambath’s eye and asked him, “What is going on, comrade?”
It seemed Sambath was no longer Papa’s employee, since he did not answer. He merely gave Papa an ironic smile. “You call him comrade?” I asked, as Papa walked back to the house. He ignored my question. He told our servant, Kilen, to close and lock the gate and told all of us to get into the house and be quiet.
Papa appeared very worried, even though he didn't say anything. He couldn’t call anybody as all the phone lines were cut off. He impatiently turned on the radio to hear the news, but there was no sound and this only increased his anxiety. However, it soon became clear that the KR were in power all over the country, when the radio crackled and we heard a very shaky and defeated voice, “I am Hem, Ket Dara. Lon Nol’s military are ordered to put down their guns while they are in negotiation with KR. We…..”
Silence.
Then we could hear mechanical sounds of the speaker in the background - click, click, click.
Silence.
Then, sounds of a struggle were interrupted by an angry, aggressive and disrespectful shout, “We are not here for negotiations. We have won the war by force of arms.”
We were all terrified.
Then KR music replaced the Khmer Republic song which had been playing in the background. Their anthem sounded like a Chinese communist song, very aggressive, fast, sharp and violent. Next, we heard that Mr. Long, Boreth  , the foreign minister and acting prime minister of the Khmer Republic, and Prince Sirimatak (Prince Sihanook’s cousin) had been arrested and possibly executed by the KR.
“Why did Sambath ignore you Papa? What happened to all the KR leaders that you invited to have dinner at our house a month ago to negotiate the peace?” I asked, unable to make sense of it all.
Before Papa could answer there was a loud, aggressive banging on the gate door. I followed Kilen as she went to open it. There stood a child soldier, about ten, in a black uniform with the signature KR krama (scarf) around his neck and a black hat. He was holding a very large gun which looked heavy but the boy held it with confidence. “Leave this house immediately!” he ordered in an angry voice that hadn't yet changed. If it hadn't been for our fear and the gun, it would have been funny, like my cousins playing a war game.
“Why, Samak Mit ?” I asked, as I heard Papa call Sambath earlier.
“We must search for enemies.”
“Enemies? What enemies?”
“Americans!!”
“We haven't seen any Americans. Where are they hiding?”
“They are hiding among you!”
“They are not in our house. Why must we leave?”
“We must search for ourselves. Leave this house immediately.” His young voice became more irate as I questioned him.
I asked softly, “How long must we be gone?”
“Three days,” he said and stalked away.
I returned to the house with Kilen, trembling, holding back tears. “Papa, what is happening? What should we do? Who are the enemies? They said the enemies were hiding among us. Who are they?” I asked frantically.
“Stay where you are. We won't leave yet.” Papa said calmly. “Maybe something will change. I will call my friend, Phlek, Pheun to find out what should we do.” But the phone line was still dead. Papa was worried about his friend and business partner, and also about his nephew, Dr. Thor’s family. They lived nearby but we could not make contact with them because the road was blocked by KR troops. Although this was so distressing at that time, I believe if Papa had connected with either one of them, especially Phlek, Phoeun, then Papa would have brought all of us to follow them and we would all have been executed. It was not for nothing that the KR, an army dressed head to foot in black with hearts to match, became known to my people as crows.