THE ROAD TO PAILIN, THE HEART OF KHMER ROUGE (FORMER) STRONGHOLD
Early in the morning, my group of five people made up mostly of journalists, an anthropologist, and a tourist, began to make our way from Siem Reap town to the edge of Tonle Sap Lake. It was still dark and cool at six O’clock in the morning, but there was plenty of moto taxi, the "moto dup," available to take us to a town called Chhong Knairse on the bank of Tonle Sap Lake. We were on our first leg of our journey to Pailin, the heart of former Khmer Rouge stronghold near Thailand-Cambodia border.
The previous day, the same group of people visited the place I called the "Tonle Sap Lake Massacre" site. It is a place I have left far, far behind some 21 years ago. The remnants of my now dead family, friends, and neighbors, numbering in the hundreds, still exist today—mostly buried deep in mass graves. It was the handy work of the Khmer Rouge during their regime’s mad dash toward a pure agrarian utopia in Cambodia. In under four years their tragic policy took Cambodia back to year zero and a lost of nearly two million lives due to starvation, sickness, disease, and execution. A generation of the Khmer people was wiped out from the face of this planet. I am the only known survivor of the Tonal Sap Massacre.
The journey on moto dup from Siem Reap town was quite pleasant after I asked the driver to slow down a little. He was in a hurry to drop me off so that he can find more new clients. I needed to get to the lake to catch a speedboat, but I was not in that of a hurry. Besides, I wanted to get there in one piece. The boat will not leave until after 7 O’clock, but not without its prepaid (at $15 each way) passengers. The young driver slowed down enough for the rest in my group to catch up and for me to admire the scenery south of Siem Reap.
The normally 20-30 minute trip took 45 minutes and my group had 15 minutes to spare before the "fast boat" departure for Battambang, our next leg of the trip toward Pailin. I paid the driver 5,000 Riels (about $1.25) knowing full well that the normal fee for this trip was only 3,000 Riels.
"Brother, I need more money for the fare." The young driver insisted.
"How much more do you want, young brother?" I sternly asked my driver and was a little bit agitated by now. "The regular fare is only 3,000 Riels. I paid you 5,000 already and you still want more? Look! My people only pay their drivers 3,000. Do you want to hand me the extra 2,000 Riels back?" I calmly and logically rambled on.
The young driver simply nod his head with respect and moved away quietly from the scene. He knew that I was correct and more than generous to him. He thought that I should pay more because I appeared "foreigner" or "farang" to him. What he did not know was that I am a native son of Siem Reap and have been back here just about every year since 1992. I know my turf! I was more fair with him than with others.
By 7 O’clock, the five of us and our gears were all packed into this little "dingy" boat, the local simply called "Oh Bor" or their "Fast Boat." There were only two life jackets and not a single oar to row the boat should the Mercury outboard engine (that’s where the term "Oh Bor" came from for "outboard" engine) failed in the middle of the lake. All five of us looked at each other with a sense of amusement mixed with amazement.
We should have counted our blessing for having just five passengers and a driver. As we were thinking that thing could not possibly get any worse, five more locals cramped in this tiny boat. My four fellow passengers, all Westerners who had paid an extra five dollars earlier for the ride, just could not believe what their eyes were seeing. They just shook their heads in disgust and try their best to laugh it off. I grabbed a life jacket, thinking that this could be our "Titanic" that will be sunk in the middle of Tonle Sap Lake. The driver, however, assured me that everything would be "just fine." I have my reservation about this arrangement and the high risk I was facing. I have no other choice but to agree with the driver as the risky boat trip beats the 9-10 hours in a cramped taxi, on a very bumpy road with monstrous potholes, on land. I prayed very hard that we all make it. For all our sake, I hope we’ll make it.
After about half-an-hour out from land, my group relaxed a little and tried to enjoy the scenery along the way. Floating villages, boats of all sizes and shapes passed us by from the opposite direction. The Mercury engine was loud, but the ride in the small dingy boat was surprisingly smooth. The driver seemed to know what he was doing, I thought. He slowed down a little when we passed other boats. "Our boat’s wake is too big," the driver simply said. One of the passengers was a uniformed police officer and I feel a bit safer having him ride with us—even if he was not armed. It did not matter. I knew how to swim and I got one of the two life jackets! It was good enough insurance or security for me, personally. That assured, I began to enjoy the ride.
The boat was surprisingly very fast, almost speedy at full throttle. Mid way across the lake, going toward Prek Tal in neighboring Battambang Province, the mighty Mercury stalled. I sucked on my water bottle nervously as the driver, with the assistance of the policeman, worked furiously trying to get it going. We ran into a fish net and the propeller got all tangled up. The driver did not even have a knife, let alone other implement. I handed him my pocketknife, one of those things that got everything except the kitchen sink. We were on the move again after less than five minutes, thanks to my multi-purpose pocketknife.
We arrived in Prek Tal, the first floating village in Battambang Province side of the lake, after about an hour—with just minor hick ups. The boat slowed down as required by local rules and regulations. We passed my aunt’s floating home and I saw one of my cousins sitting on front porch. I stood up and waved vigorously to him. He did not recognize me at first with my sunglasses and a hat on. No one knew that I recently arrived from America and certainly no one expected that I would come through here. He put two and two together after seeing my fellow Western passengers with me. He signaled for me to come in for a visit. I signaled back with a long out stretched arm telling him that I have a long, long way to go yet. He had a puzzle look on his face, which I thought was very funny. I could not stop because this was a shared ride.
The supposedly three hours "fast boat" trip took us more than four hours to reach Battambang town, our next leg of our journey to Pailin. About half way through the small and shallow Sangke River, with extreme twist and turn up stream, our propeller ran into a submerged log. The impact broke the bolt that held the propeller in place. Once again, my multi-purpose pocketknife saved the day, but nearly an hour went by before we sped away again with a vengeance.
After few stalls here and there in the shallow stream that required a few pushes and pulls coordination, the rest of the way was uneventful. We arrived in Battambang town at about noon. We all took moto dup to a restaurant in town. We ate great lunch, drank Angkor beer and young coconut juice, and just relaxed and cooled down a little. We were all thankful that we made it more than half way of our journey to Pailin. We walked the local market, bought some fruit, and just enjoyed the market scene. I renewed a personal bond with this wonderful trading city again after nearly a five-year absence. Physically speaking, so much have changed since my last visit here, for the better of course. It has now been beautified and teeming with traders and shopkeepers, where it was a depressing scene earlier.
By two O’clock that afternoon, the five of us purchased two taxi spaces for $18 each on two Nissan pick up trucks, with small club cab seat behind the driver’s seat, and off we went. The five of us took two shared vehicles with space normally reserved for 10 or more of local passengers! In the pickup’s beds behind us were loaded to the rim with supplies and local passengers on the top. For comparison, the locals paid 5,000 Riels ($1.25) for the rights to ride in the hot, dusty, crowded, and perhaps even dangerous space outside. The five of us paid about $7.20 each for a more comfortable ride in the air-conditioned space inside. I would have paid even more to be a bit safer and a lot more comfortable. Yes, I felt a little bit sorry for folks riding behind us, but someone got to do the dirty work. It was not going to be me—certainly not when I have other choices.
The two hours ride on a stretch of Highway 10 toward Pailin was very, very rough due to the gigantic potholes that seemed to swallowed and consumed the mid-sized Nissan pick up truck ahead of us. It was more of a dirt road with serious pothole problems than a national highway to me. Years of warfare in this area really took its toll on the highway where I saw just a few remnants of the old black top asphalt remained.
The driver gave us a "pit stop" about midway through this almost no man land. All rushed out to stake the best place to go "potty," remembering very well that our driver reminded us not to go too far.
"Land mines are plenty here! Be careful of where you go!" He said calmly, but with a serious face. He was not kidding.
The others and I, strictly followed the locals’ example. We were pretty much remained on the edge of the highway and let it lose. My two female compatriots decided to hold out until we get to Pailin. I was amazed with their personal endurance after all that drinks we had earlier.
We were off again soon after the brief stop and we did not stop again until we were much closer to Pailin. There was a commotion alongside of the highway and the pickup in front of us suddenly came to an abrupt stop and everyone got off. I was a bit nervous knowing that I was closer and closer to the infamous Khmer Rouge’s stronghold. I didn’t want to get out at first, but my Western companions—who didn’t know any better and perhaps a bit naďve—curiously got out to join the crowd. They were all rushing out to stare at the bloody and decapitated pieces of meat scatter by the roadside. It belonged to a large wild game, a massive five-point tropical elk. It was either killed while stepping on a land mine or was shot by a soldier, I was not clear. People were actually negotiating to buy the over 100 kilograms of the dead beast carcass. The haggling went on for more than 20 minutes, but the soldier rejected the top price of 5,000 Riels per kilogram offered. No one has a scale and they did not agree on the weight of the beast. So there was no deal after all that effort.
I was still nervous standing in a middle of no where watching people haggling over a bloody carcass. This area was the scene of some of the heaviest battles between government forces and the Khmer Rouge not too long ago. People, including my Western companions, were standing there casually like there is no big deal. My survival instinct, some people labeled "paranoia," is what kept me alive up to now. It was telling me to move on out, the sooner the better. I rushed everyone back in the truck so that we could leave. I did not relax until after we arrived in Pailin at about five in the afternoon.
One of the French woman, Christine Chamau, who works for the Phnom Penh Post and who has been in Pailin three times, suggested that we do not carry our camera and video equipment around. She did not want to provoke or aggravate the Khmer Rouge or give them any excuse to kick us out—not before we get to meet with the "Heavy Weights." We were there hoping to meet Ieng Sary, Khiev Samphan, and Noun Chea, the last surviving senior Khmer Rouge leadership who recently defected to the government. I was there as a "member of the press corp." and not as a Ronnie Yimsut, the survivor of the Khmer Rouge’s bloody killing fields.
Our taxi dropped us off at the Bungalow, a series of small-detached buildings with the most basic amenities for a steep $20 a night or 900 Bahts per night. Dinner that evening was a simple bowl of noodle soup in a simple restaurant near our Bungalow. After dinner, everyone retired to individual room.
After a change of fresh cloth, I decided to walk around within the walled area of the Bungalow. I was still nervous, psychologically speaking, for being in the cradle of the Khmer Rouge—the mass murderer of millions—including my family. Outside, I could see the bright street light and people going up and down the main street. It looked too normal, I thought. I slowly walked outside passed the still open gate when a moto dup slow down in front of me. He signaled me with his right hand, "do you want a ride?" I decided then, despite my fear and nervousness, to tour the town of Pailin for the first time. It was close to 9 O’clock in the evening, according to my watch.
I offered the driver 5,000 Riels to cruise through the town of Pailin for an hour with me. He gladly agreed. I need to get my bearing, I supposed, just in case. After about 20 minutes up and down the street of Pailin, I was told that I have seen it all. I was a bit disappointed and asked the driver to do another round or so. He complied and then dropped me off near the Bungalow.
It was approaching 10 PM, but there were still people on the street and in the shop with blaring Karaoke music in Khmer and Thai. I walked across to a nearby shop where people congregated and sang Karaoke. I sat down and asked for a fruit shake, the wonderful Tuk Kroluk. I spoke with the middle-age shopkeeper and found out a little more about this town. To my surprise, she told me that this town normally open for 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. However, due to some problems—she didn’t say what they were—City Hall ordered a curfew by 2 AM. I later found out that there were shootings and people killed in a local night club, one of the few "capitalist crimes" in a Khmer Rouge’s zone. One incident and the authority clamped down hard on all its citizens, mostly on new comers to the area.
I was also told that petty crimes was few and far in between due to the well-established justice system they had here. They took you out and shot you dead, no question asked. So the crook tended to stay away from the area, simply because of that policy. There was a courthouse, I went in there later on, but not a soul was there. There was no judge, jury, jail, and no inmate. I saw policemen here and there and all armed with AK-47 with a 30 round magazine. The Khmer Rouge soldiers are known to empty this Chinese-made gift in less than 3 seconds. I was not sure what to believe, but I felt safe enough from the crooks that do petty crimes here in Pailin. People said they were safe in Pailin from petty crimes. Safety from the authority, however, was another story. People were respectful of the "Ieng Sary’s regime," if not fearful, I was told.
What is my first impression of Pailin? What we have here is capitalism at its purest form, I thought! This is a place where capitalism goes out of control, above and beyond the call of duty for sure. These commies, former or otherwise, have really turned serious capitalists as I can see just across the street. There was a casino, a dancing bar attached to it, numerous shops with bright neon and blinking lights that I was told were places where you can get a massage of all sort. The flesh trade from Khmer, Thai, and Vietnamese women is available for a small fee in Thai or US currency, I was told. It is amazing for a group of idealist people who were not the least bit hesitated in killing people in the name of their belief and revolution. In a short span of time, they went from hard core Communists to extreme Capitalists. Forget about ideology, the color of money is king in Pailin today. The current Governor of Pailin, Mr. Eeh Chien, a died-hard commander and a true believer of the communist’s ideology had built himself seven (7) mansions and villas. His private stash of gem and timber collected from his area of control reportedly worth millions in US dollars—not to mention fat bank accounts reportedly in foreign countries. He was a "Warlord" at the purest sense. Even the Royal Government of Cambodia’s Arm Forces very fearful of him and his power.
Everyone was busy making money, the more the better. Indeed, screwed the communist ideology that they have fought so blindly with their hearts and minds for more than 30 years! Everyone attitude was almost similar to the "born-again Christian." The transformation was absolutely amazing, almost unbelievable. Just like everything else in the Khmer Rouge’s hypocritical policy and action, the leopards have changed their spots, so it would seem. Do they really change deep inside? I personally doubted it. Their friendlier image, yes. Their entrenched ideology, never. It is not possible.
I spent my restless first night in what seemed to be a very uncomfortable bed. It was not the bed or the jumbo-sized mosquitoes that bothered me. It was being in this place with these people, a place and people whose split decision could return to violence without having to wait for a blue moon. I know, what my Western companions did really know, what these people with guns are capable of. And that is what really scared me and kept me awake much of the first night. Yes, indeed I was perhaps guilty of paranoia as suspected. Who wouldn’t, if only they know these people and what they are capable of doing to another human being?
I got up very early the next morning. It was still dark, but I have to go see what that noise not too far away was. I grabbed my 8mm video and 35mm Pentax; wrapped and concealed them in my cotton scarf—the Kroma—and walked outside the gate. Not too far away in the back of the Bungalow was a gigantic operation that I only read about in the newspaper. It was a gem mining concession deal that the Khmer Rouge had signed with the Thai. This was a 24 hour--365 days a year--operation ran by a few dozens Thai nationals. Giant gem milling machines and hydro-cannons blasted away the earth sending murky mining tail down stream. The operation was off line earlier last night due to mechanical failures. They fixed it all night, I was told in Thai. It was in full swing again when I was there visiting that early morning Three hundred and sixty-five days a year of this kind of operation? Where was that hill again? Gone down in the murky mining tail that drained into the Sangke River and then into the Tonle Sap Lake. The sight personally horrified me. I got a few decent video footage and slides for the scene, candidly of course.
On the way back, I ran into a group of people of all ages walking with their gem mining implements. I took a picture of the group, along with a short video clip—still hidden.
"Pai nai, Khab?" I asked them in Thai, pretending to be a Thai national in case they saw my camera.
They all just smile and kept on walking. One little boy replied back to me in perfect Thai that he was "going to dig for gem." They adult female next to him, his mother perhaps, knocked hard on his head as a reward for his big mouth. The little boy was hurting and rubbing his head. I followed them just a little way to their mining site, which was right next to the main boulevard in downtown Pailin, not very far from City Hall. There were more people out there, perhaps a hundred more working the claim. I did not stay to watch this small-scaled operation very long. I returned to meet my Western companions who were just congregating near the gate. They were deciding what to do and where to go from there. We all ended up spending a good part of the morning watching and openly filming the busy crowd of people who were digging for Pailin’s famous ruby. I spent a bit of time asking and talking to people. I was also the subject of a film documentary and so the French cameraman was busy filming my interaction with people.
We split up after about 10AM. The three journalists decided to make an attempt to arrange for a meeting with the Khmer Rouge leaders. I went off to a famous hill nearby, Phnom Yart, with David Linsdell—a traveling companion from Oregon. This Phnom Yart hill, like that of Phnom Penh hill, is rich in history and full of legendary myth. Many popular Khmer songs about Pailin also included the romanticized Phnom Yart. I have to see it for myself for sure.
The trip up the steep road to the top of the hill by moto dup was a bit hairy for me, simply because I was not in control of the machine. We got there in one piece. The panoramic views struck me with absolute awe. It was a beautiful area with various terrain. The old pagoda was very much gone with just a remnant of the foundation and a badly damaged stupa. Obviously, the Khmer Rouge did not believe in religion and had destroyed everything connected with religion. They also had used this sacred area earlier as their artillery base to repel government invasion advance below. The big guns no longer there, but the thousand of land mines laid around to protect the hill were still there. We had to very much remain on solid ground to avoid being blown to pieces.
We regrouped again for dinner at a local restaurant and planned our next move. Our journalist friends failed to arrange a meeting with the Khmer Rouge "Heavy Weights." They did manage to arrange a meeting with Ieng Vuth, Ieng Sary’s son and Deputy Governor of Pailin, the next morning. We were all disappointed, but it was better than an empty hand.
The next morning, we met with "His Excellency Ieng Vuth," as he wanted us to call him, according to his aid. At the last moment, I was pressed into service as "translator/interpreter" by the press corp. I hesitated, but everyone was desperate. I reluctantly agreed to do my best for "a lunch" in return. I did well and got the free lunch (there’s never a "free lunch" folks).
The 20 minutes interview was agonizingly painful for me personally. I was face to face with an official of the Khmer Rouge whose policy led to the murder of my family and severe personal injuries to myself 21 years earlier. It was just yesterday for me. I did my temporary job well and worked very hard to swallow my anger welded deep inside of me. I tried hard to smile a fake smile in front of this Khmer Rouge official, knowing full well that I was hurting deep inside.
"We are no longer Khmer Rouge. We are just ordinary Cambodians." Ieng Vuth repeatedly insisted.
Ieng Vuth, the Deputy Governor and Sary’s son, was visibly very angry when the press kept on referring to him and others as "Khmer Rouge." He repeatedly insisted that we stop calling him and his colleagues as "Khmer Rouge." I thought for sure that he was going to "shoot the messenger," which happened to be me! He was very upset and it showed through his beaming eyes. I only saw evil and insincerity in his eyes and nothing more.
"Where did you study your English, brother?" He asked me at the conclusion of the official interview.
"Uh…. In a foreign country, Your Excellency." I gave him a wicked smile during my reply.
"You speak English very well, Brother. Do you live in Phnom Penh?" He was curiously interested.
"Yes, in Phnom Penh, Your Excellency." I taunted him with a straight face.
"We need people like you to help us improve our image a little, people who know the Westerners' language well. We are Cambodians now and not Khmer Rouge anymore." He continued and repeatedly said the same thing.
I just smiled politely and thought to myself, "not even for a million buck fee, Killer!" I could not wait to get out of there before I blow my cover. I was obviously angry, but tried very hard to suppress my anger. I did not trust him or any other Khmer Rouge, former or otherwise. I could have kill this man with my bare hand before anyone could react (and of course killing everyone else, including myself, in the process as well). It was very, very difficult, but I fooled the Khmer Rouge. I actually pulled it off cleanly, well almost.
After that ordeal, I was ready to head back into a little more civilized world. However, I could not pass up the chance to see the Thai-Cambodian border and perhaps the home of the "Heavy Weights." The 30-minute drive through a nice-pothole free dusty road between Pailin and the Thai-Cambodian border was not bad, almost pleasant. Every now and then a loud boom can be heard. It was the "exploding land mine," our driver said casually. From early 1979 up toward the end of 1996, this specific stretch of road to the border have seen many vicious battles between the Vietnamese invading army and the resistant fighters, which included the Khmer Rouge and two other factions. This stretch of road is the heaviest land mine infested area in the country and perhaps in the world. The road itself was only mine free since early 1997 after Ieng Sary defected and supposedly joined the government. Damaged and destroyed tanks and Armor Personal Carriers can be seen scattered along side the road from past battles. Who knows how many lives this area has claimed? It must have been in the hundreds of thousands, if not a million, both military and civilian.
I felt very sorry for the destruction of native forest along both sides of the road. It became almost a barren landscape void of majestic rain forest, which stood here once. It was absolutely pathetic. They basically wrecked the forest, as far as the eye can see, for the next two generations, if not more. Progress in the name of capitalism or market economy, I supposed.
At the Thai-Cambodia border, we got to see two not-yet exploded land mines on the side of the road—just a mere five feet from a drink shop. I was told that there are more all around and not to go off road. They did not have to tell me twice. We later went into a Khmer Rouge-operated casino just 100 yards from the border. Security was very tight, even in this most remote jungle casino. No camera or video is allowed and strictly enforced. Hundreds and hundreds of Thai and a few Khmer gamblers were bused into the area at all hours of the day. The casino used to open until 2 in the morning, but now it closed at 4 in the afternoon. They were waging in the thousands of Thai bath. Two, three, a thousand dollars equivalent were wagered by individual gambler in a single bet. I was amazed to see so much money being wagered at this remote and primitive jungle casino. I saw less money being bet in Las Vegas, Nevada than here. New casinos, much more fancy ones, were being built. The son of Cambodia’s richest and most notorious businessman, Mr. Theng Bun Ma, who has strong connection to the ruling party, was financing the new casinos. The demand was there and so the Khmer Rouge will supply it. When a communist turns into a capitalist, he goes all the way out to the moon. What a hypocrite, I thought.
We could not even get very close to the home of the top Khmer Rouge bosses (I called them Mafia now after seeing their casino, gem, and timber trade) because of armed guards. Their homes were just a stone throw away from the border. I am most certain that their Thai military buddies would protect them with their lives—as long as the gem, timber, and casino profit keep coming their way. The Thai soldiers did not like it when I openly filmed them with my 8mm video from the neutral zone, a swat of arrow land between Thailand and Cambodia. Even the Thai gamblers did not want their picture taken. They were in Cambodia without passport or visa and so they were a fair game for us reporters—fake or otherwise. I got some good shots.
The return trip to Pailin and then Siem Reap was relatively uneventful. We stopped to take a closer look at Governor Eeh Chien’s mansion, one of seven (7) he owned, and his acres after acres of already-cut and stacked-up timber. Indeed, he is representing the rich and the powerful communist at the purist form. The Khmer Rouge exemplified the best of communism.
I personally will not visit the Khmer Rouge’s Pailin again until they are all gone from this planet. To be in proximity of them was dirty enough. My advice to all is to heed this warning about the Khmer Rouge. The Khmer Rouge will always be Khmer Rouge, no matter what, as leopard will never change its spots.
End
Journals Khmer Voice Homepage Authors and Their Works Table of Contents Poetry New Submissions Short stories & Essays