17 April 1975: the 50th anniversary of the Cambodian genocide

Today marks the 50^th anniversary of the genocide in Cambodia. On 17 April 1975 the Khmer Rouge marched into Cambodia’s capital, Phnom Penh, with orders for everyone to evacuate. All foreigners including journalists were forced to leave Cambodia. The Khmer Rouge (communists led by Pol Pot) had already taken control of the rest of the country from the Lon Nol government, a US-backed military dictatorship. And prior to that, Lon Nol led a military coup against the monarchy of Prince Norodom Sihanouk. On the heels of the Vietnam War and using the fear of more American aggression in the region, the Khmer Rouge emptied the entire capital city with the false threat of more American bombs. They promised that people would be able to return to their homes within three days. This was a lie.

Forced to evacuate from Phnom Penh and before they met, my parents were still teenagers and with their respective families marched to random provinces. With this mass exodus of millions of people leaving at the same time forced by armed Khmer Rouge soldiers, many lost relatives and loved ones along the way amidst the chaos. Everyone slowly marched on foot for two to three days with breaks only to sleep and cook meals along the side of the road. My courageous father managed to walk backwards undetected in the sea of people to return to his house to gather more belongings. In a time of crisis and fear, would you have thought to do that? Would you be brave enough? I’m not sure I would be.

From their march, those evacuated were put into concentration camps in villages where they were forced to return to agrarian roots focused on agricultural reform. The Khmer Rouge attempted to reset the clock at “year zero” in Cambodia—everything was now done only for the “Angka” (the “organization”). This meant former identities as teachers, doctors, lawyers, and artists were abolished and replaced as farmers. Education, religion, and any individualistic tendency was outlawed. Dissidents were not tolerated and paranoia ran high. Executions were carried out on those who were perceived to be a threat to the Khmer Rouge. Anyone with formal education was a direct target and wearing glasses was an easy signal for who to round up and kill.

The Angka controlled your freedom, your sleep, your thoughts, your movements, your speech, your sustenance. But I know they could not control the heart, the spirit.

Everyone was forced to work 14-hour days digging irrigation ditches and cultivating rice that they were not allowed to eat (it was rumored that it was being shipped off to Mao Zedong). Each day’s meal ration of rice porridge consisted mostly of water and several grains of rice. Children were on their own as their parents worked all day. The elderly were neglected and discarded. The disabled and lazy were executed. Starvation, disease, and despair were rampant.

The political background of how the Khmer Rouge came into power is messy and complicated. Politicians pass laws in their ivory towers and never feel the true effects of what their policies bring. They profit from war and the killing of innocents from countries they have never visited while labeling them terrorists and the enemy. The decisions made by diplomats and secretaries of states have impacted my family’s lineage in palpable ways but I won’t let them write our story.

One day I hope to write my parents’ stories and do them justice. This will be part of my legacy.

During the murderous reign of the Khmer Rouge between 1975-1979, an estimated two million Cambodians died from mass murders, starvation, and disease. During this time, my parents watched family members die, their bodies discarded without proper burials. The fall of the Khmer Rouge didn’t end my parents’ suffering. There was still a long and dangerous journey ahead to the refugee camps in Thailand before we made our way to America. I was born in a refugee camp and was three years old when we settled in Cleveland, Ohio. I have no memories of this time. A blessing because it means I have less trauma to process, but I have so many questions needing answers. Much of my adult life has been spent curious about how my parents survived such trauma and terror. I get only bits and pieces of their experiences because healing trauma is not linear and often buried too deep. I try my best to give my parents grace and empathy, knowing that the life they have given my sister and I are a testament to how incredibly strong they are.

Despite the heaviness, despite the broken branches of our family tree, and despite the death and trauma, my parents have rebuilt their lives. They had to start over: in a new country, with a new language, with new rules and customs. They have shown me that transformation is powerful and possible.

I shift the scene to Gaza where the genocide is so bloody it is difficult to ignore. Over 1,000 children have been murdered by israel in the past week since they broke the cease fire. The genocide in Palestine is being live-streamed and a click away. We cannot say we didn’t know. Our complicity is apparent in everything we touch. In everything we read, we watch, we buy. There is no excuse this time. There is no opportunity for feigned ignorance. Either humanity lives up to its belief of equality for all, or let the masks fall as they are and God will have His justice.

israel bombs refugee camps. And I think of Baby Sila: the cutest little baby girl that I follow on Instagram (@mahmoudselme). She reminds me of me. She was born in a refugee camp. I also was born in a refugee camp. She took her first steps in a refugee camp. I also took my first steps in a refugee camp. I want her to grow and thrive in this world. I pray that she stays safe so that she can chase her dreams, whatever they may be.

The genocide in Cambodia was largely hidden in a time without smart phones. No one knew that Cambodia was being starved and massacred. It breaks my heart knowing that even if people had known, the most they would have done is the hand-wringing as for Palestine. Palestine has revealed that appealing to a moral conscience doesn’t work. The only hope I have is that seeing the death and the steadfastness of Palestinians has forced the world to look at their own faith. To question justice and realize that it will not be in this world. But certainly perhaps in the next, when divine karma will be exacted. It has forced a sense of urgency to save our souls.

Will you go to God for mercy before it’s too late?

On this 50^th anniversary of genocide in Cambodia, I reflect on the path forward of healing for not only Cambodians, but for the global collective, for all of humanity. Cambodia has rebuilt, is rebuilding. The killing fields are now museums and the bones of those executed lay unburied and perhaps already turned to dust scattered to the winds. But I shall always remember the strength and courage of my parents and my ancestors. I try to embody the resilience and faith needed to awaken and ascend in this often divisive and destructive world. I have hope that the shifts happening now are leading to a more beautiful future for all. I pray for justice and peace to triumph in this world.