First They Killed My Father_ A Daughter of Cambodia Remembers - Loung Ung [0]
they killed my father
a daughter of cambodia remembers
LOUNG UNG
In memory of the two million people who perished under the Khmer Rouge regime.
This book is dedicated to my father, Ung; Seng Im, who always believed in me; my mother, Ung; Ay Choung, who always loved me.
To my sisters Keav, Chou, and Geak because sisters are forever; my brother Kim, who taught me about courage; my brother Khouy, for contributing more than one hundred pages of our family history and details of our lives under the Khmer Rouge, many of which I incorporated into this book; to my brother Meng and sister-in-law Eang Muy Tan, who raised me (quite well) in America.
contents
Author’s Note
family chart 1975
Phnom Penh April 1975
The Ung Family April 1975
Takeover April 17, 1975
Evacuation April 1975
Seven-Day Walk April 1975
Krang Truop April 1975
Waiting Station July 1975
Anglungthmor July 1975
Ro Leap November 1975
Labor Camps January 1976
New Year’s April 1976
Keav August 1976
Pa December 1976
Ma’s Little Monkey April 1977
Leaving Home May 1977
Child Soldiers August 1977
Gold for Chicken November 1977
The Last Gathering May 1978
The Walls Crumble November 1978
The Youn Invasion January 1979
The First Foster Family January 1979
Flying Bullets February 1979
Khmer Rouge Attack February 1979
The Execution March 1979
Back to Bat Deng April 1979
From Cambodia to Vietnam October 1979
Lam Sing Refugee Camp February 1980
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Resources
P.S
Praise
Also By Loung Ung
Copyright
About the Publisher
author’s note
From 1975 to 1979—through execution, starvation, disease, and forced labor—the Khmer Rouge systematically killed an estimated two million Cambodians, almost a fourth of the country’s population.
This is a story of survival: my own and my family’s. Though these events constitute my experience, my story mirrors that of millions of Cambodians. If you had been living in Cambodia during this period, this would be your story too.
family chart 1975
phnom penh
April 1975
Phnom Penh city wakes early to take advantage of the cool morning breeze before the sun breaks through the haze and invades the country with sweltering heat. Already at 6 A.M. people in Phnom Penh are rushing and bumping into each other on dusty, narrow side streets. Waiters and waitresses in black-and-white uniforms swing open shop doors as the aroma of noodle soup greets waiting customers. Street vendors push food carts piled with steamed dumplings, smoked beef teriyaki sticks, and roasted peanuts along the sidewalks and begin to set up for another day of business. Children in colorful T-shirts and shorts kick soccer balls on sidewalks with their bare feet, ignoring the grunts and screams of the food cart owners. The wide boulevards sing with the buzz of motorcycle engines, squeaky bicycles, and, for those wealthy enough to afford them, small cars. By midday, as temperatures climb to over a hundred degrees, the streets grow quiet again. People rush home to seek relief from the heat, have lunch, take cold showers, and nap before returning to work at 2 P.M.
My family lives on a third-floor apartment in the middle of Phnom Penh, so I am used to the traffic and the noise. We don’t have traffic lights on our streets; instead, policemen stand on raised metal boxes, in the middle of the intersections directing traffic. Yet the city always seems to be one big traffic jam. My favorite way to get around with Ma is the cyclo because the driver can maneuver it in the heaviest traffic. A cyclo resembles a big wheelchair attached to the front of a bicycle. You just take a seat and pay the driver to wheel you around wherever you want to go. Even though we own two cars and a truck, when Ma takes me to the market we often go in a cyclo because we get to our destination faster. Sitting on her lap I bounce and laugh as the driver pedals through the congested city streets.
This morning, I am stuck at a noodle shop a block