<strong>Searching</strong> <strong>for</strong> <strong>the</strong> Truth ⎯ FAMILY TRACING accused <strong>of</strong> bringing food supplies to <strong>the</strong> “Khmer Rouge.” The next day we traveled on our neighbor’s ox cart to Banteay Treng. It was evening when we arrived. We had to camp outside <strong>the</strong> base and wait patiently to see her. The next morning, we and o<strong>the</strong>r people asked <strong>the</strong> commander <strong>for</strong> permission to visit <strong>the</strong> prisoners. At about 11:00 in <strong>the</strong> morning, <strong>the</strong> prisoners were allowed out to visit <strong>the</strong>ir relatives. Because we were small, we had to push our way through <strong>the</strong> crowd <strong>of</strong> people at <strong>the</strong> gate. Mom was nowhere to be seen. I grabbed <strong>the</strong> barbed wire fence separating <strong>the</strong> prisoners and <strong>the</strong> visitors, and looked <strong>for</strong> her in every direction until my eyes hurt, but still I could not find her. My older bro<strong>the</strong>r and I were about to ask <strong>the</strong> chief <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> prison guards to check <strong>the</strong> list to make sure her name was on it. But <strong>the</strong>n, a hand made rough by labor grabbed my hand tightly and I heard a murmur, “My daughter! My daughter!” I was so shocked that I wanted to jerk my hand away, but <strong>the</strong>n I looked up. I saw a female prisoner with bushy gray hair, nasty wounds on her body, and bruised eyelids, which made her eyeballs look whiter than normal. What she was wearing was beyond imagination. Her clo<strong>the</strong>s were ragged and faded, and torn just like those <strong>of</strong> a beggar. I peered at her closely, but I could not recognize her. Only when I saw two amputated fingers did I realize that she was my mo<strong>the</strong>r. After just half a month <strong>of</strong> separation, my mo<strong>the</strong>r had become skeletal. I placed her hands on my cheeks and my tears came flooding out, wetting her hands completely. My bro<strong>the</strong>r could barely speak; he just shook his head and sobbed: “Oh, mommy! Oh, mommy!” He opened a box <strong>of</strong> fried shrimp, grilled fish, and rice, and <strong>the</strong>n handed <strong>the</strong>m to mum. I gave her some dried bananas <strong>for</strong> dessert. We had nothing else. As soon as she saw <strong>the</strong> package <strong>of</strong> dried bananas, my mo<strong>the</strong>r chided us in a s<strong>of</strong>t voice: “Why don’t you send it to our comrades in <strong>the</strong> mountains?” I told her that we had already sent some food, and this was what was left over. When I put my hands on her chest, she jerked <strong>Documentation</strong> <strong>Center</strong> <strong>of</strong> <strong>Cambodia</strong> (DC-Cam) Number <strong>28</strong>, April 2002 back. “What’s wrong with you?” I asked her. “Nothing,” she replied, and turned to talk about o<strong>the</strong>r things. Only later did I learn that her chest was completely burnt by <strong>the</strong> cigarettes our barbaric enemies had thrust into her, trying to <strong>for</strong>ce her to reveal <strong>the</strong> hideouts <strong>of</strong> our fighters in <strong>the</strong> <strong>for</strong>est. But my mo<strong>the</strong>r was committed to <strong>the</strong> fighting. She always said no to <strong>the</strong>m. She was tortured into unconsciousness four or five times a day. She was not given food or water. When she became too thirsty, she drank her own urine. However, <strong>the</strong>y could not <strong>for</strong>ce her to give <strong>the</strong>m <strong>the</strong> answers <strong>the</strong>y wanted. My mo<strong>the</strong>r asked me: “Did Uncle Noeun come to our home?” “No, he did not,” I replied. “Our comrades probably starved to death in <strong>the</strong> <strong>for</strong>est! I’m very sorry that I was caught be<strong>for</strong>e I could reach <strong>the</strong>m,” she sighed as two tears rolled down her face. She squeezed our hands tightly, <strong>the</strong>n said: “You both must per<strong>for</strong>m this duty <strong>for</strong> me. O<strong>the</strong>rwise, I cannot rest in peace. Can you promise me?” Her loyalty and devotion to <strong>the</strong> revolution was absorbed into our hearts through her eyes, breath and warm hands. We were inspired and declared simultaneously: “We will definitely accomplish this task <strong>for</strong> <strong>the</strong> revolution.” If we had not been separated by barbed wire, mo<strong>the</strong>r would have kissed us with great satisfaction. (Continued in <strong>the</strong> June 2003 issue) Khmer Rouge Stance ◆ Real elements are close to <strong>the</strong> public: The public sides with <strong>the</strong> party. A committee <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> party will not be strong if <strong>the</strong> public does not support it. Support involves consciousness and organization. (Revolutionary Flag, June 07, 1976) ◆ Khmer Rouge's definition <strong>of</strong> word “Violence”: Use <strong>of</strong> <strong>for</strong>ce by people or a political group to smash <strong>the</strong>ir life-and-death enemies. (Excepted from <strong>the</strong> book: “Geography <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> Democratic Kampuchea”, <strong>for</strong> second grade education, printed in 1977) 47 100 100 100 100 100 100 50 50 50 50 Black Yellow Magenta Cyan
100 100 100 100 100 100 50 50 50 50 Black Yellow Magenta Cyan Number <strong>28</strong>, April 2002 48 Removal <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> skull-map in 2002. 1979 <strong>Searching</strong> <strong>for</strong> <strong>the</strong> Truth ⎯ FAMILY TRACING An original skull-map designed in 1979. 1979-2002 March 10, 2002 <strong>Documentation</strong> <strong>Center</strong> <strong>of</strong> <strong>Cambodia</strong> (DC-Cam)