First They Killed My Father_ A Daughter of Cambodia Remembers - Loung Ung [30]
I do not know when the soldier finishes dumping all the clothes onto the pile. I cannot take my eyes off of my dress. I stand there, with Ma and Pa on either side of me. My insides are tied up in knots, a scream claws its way up my throat, but I push it all down. “No! Not my dress. What have I done to you?” I scream in my head, tears welling up in my eyes. Please help me! I don’t know if I can handle it anymore! I don’t understand why you hate me so much!” I grind my teeth so hard the pain in my throat moves up to my temples. My hands clench in fists; I continue to stare at my dress. I do not see the soldier’s hand reach into his pocket and retrieve from it a box of matches. I do not hear his fingers strike a match against the side of the box. The next thing I know the pile of clothes bursts into flames and my red dress melts like plastic in the fire.
“Wearing colorful clothes is forbidden. You will take off the clothes you have on and burn those as well. Bright colors only serve to corrupt your mind. You are no different from anyone else here and from now on will dress in black pants and shirts. A new set will be issued to you once a month.” To drive his point home, the chief paces around, looking the new people in the eye, pointing his long index finger at them.
“In Democratic Kampuchea,” the chief continues, “we are all equal and do not have to cower to anyone. When the foreigners took over Kampuchea, they brought with them bad habits and fancy titles. The Angkar has expelled all foreigners so we no longer have to refer to each other using fancy titles. From now on, you will address everyone as ‘Met.’ For example, he is Met Rune, she is Met Srei. No more Mr., Mrs., Sir, Lord, or His Excellency.”
“Yes, comrade,” we reply collectively.
“The children will change what they call their parents. Father is now ‘Poh’ and not Daddy, Pa, or any other term. Mother is ‘Meh.’” I hold on to Pa’s finger even tighter as the chief rants off other new words. The new Khmer have better words for eating, sleeping, working, stranger; all designed to make us equal.
“In this village, as in the whole of our new and pure society, we all live in a communal system and share everything. There is no private ownership of animals, land, gardens, or even houses. Everything belongs to the Angkar. If the Angkar suspects you of being a traitor, we will come into your home and go through whatever we like. The Angkar will provide you with everything you need. You new people will eat your meals together. Meals will be served from twelve to two P.M., and from six to seven P.M. If you come late, you will get nothing. Your meal will be rationed to you; the harder you work, the more you’ll eat. After dinner each night, I will let you know whether or not there will be meetings. The base people and our comrade soldiers will patrol your work area. If they see you neglecting your duties and report that you are lazy, you will get nothing to eat.” My eyes follow the chief as he paces around the circle of people. I pray that I will remember all he has said.
“You must follow all the rules set for you by the Angkar. This way, we will never have to deal with the crimes and corruption of the city people.”
“Yes, comrade,” the new people echo in unison.
“Each family will be assigned a house in the village. Those who do not get a house today will be built one tomorrow. Your first work assignment is to build houses for each other.”
“Yes, comrade.”
“Children in our society will not attend school just to have their brains cluttered with useless information. They will have sharp minds and fast bodies if we give them hard work. The Angkar cannot tolerate laziness. Hard work is good for everyone. Any kind of schooling