For the Sake of All Living Things (17 page)

“Dumb king. Not even in India do people worship this Buddha. Kings are dumb. Two centuries ago a king was tricked into giving a quarter of our land to an Annamite family as dowry for their daughter. Driven by sins of the flesh he gave them Prey Nokor. The yuons named it Sai Con; the French, Saigon. But it is Khmer. The Mekong Delta is Khmer. We will regain these lands.”

Yes, Nang thought. I know this to be true. He sat, stunned, seized by the words, the thoughts.

“Not once, in two thousand years, has the monarchy been able to defend Kampuchea’s territorial integrity. Again and again”—the instructor slammed his fists angrily on his small lectern—“the monarch has sold out Kampuchea.”

“Yes,” Nang jumped up, shouted. “That’s true,” he yelled. The class stared at him. The lecturer smiled inwardly, took note, stared Nang back into his rigid seated posture.

“Two years ago,” the lecturer continued, “Sihanouk obtained statements from the government of North Viet Nam and the provisional government of the South expressing recognition and acceptance of Kampuchea’s present territorial boundaries including the coastal islands off Kep and Kampot. What good is writing. No matter how fine the paper, no matter how elaborate the words, the yuons still have thousands of troops inhabiting our territory. It’s collusion. Buddha and the monarchy. We shall rid the land of both and the yuons will flee.”

Nang left the lecture elated. To Ur he said, “My father said those same things. We can avenge our families.”

Ur stared into his eyes. “Your father said similar things. Not the same.”

Nang turned to Pah and Eng. “We’ll be soldiers.”

“Yeah,” Eng answered. “Real soldiers.”

Pah looked at Eng and Nang. Then at Ur. He said nothing but he walked behind Ur.

In the new compound the beatings did not stop but now they were meted out for specific infractions. As often as not punishment was delivered, not immediately, but during self-criticism sessions. Immediate punishments were light. Nang had been slapped twice during the day following the lecture on Buddhism and the monarchy for humming without permission. Eng had been roughed up for singing. Ur had been beaten for showing disrespect.

Punishments in self-criticism sessions were harsh. On the seventh night the class was separated into four cells for
kosangs
, Khmer for construction, a ritual similar to “struggles” in China, to
kiem thao
in Viet Nam. Three guards sat behind a narrow split-bamboo table set in a small open-sided hut. A dozen students sat on the earth in proper posture before the table. The guard at the center, Met Din, spoke seriously, not loudly, not angrily, just harshly. “Student Ur will rise, come forward and kneel.” Ur immediately obeyed. He did not know his offense or who had reported him. He knew only he would be punished for his infractions and the punishment would hurt. He did not understand why they had not allowed the infection to consume him, why they had treated him, tended his wound with powders, cleansed it daily, even given him extra rations, since, he was certain, had been certain since they marched from Plei Srepok, he was destined to be killed.

“The Movement wishes you to learn proper revolutionary attitudes,” Met Din rasped in Khmer.

“I wish to learn also,” Ur responded. In his nervousness before the panel he spoke in Jarai. Immediately a guard from the end of the table leaped at him, swinging full arm, slapping his face, knocking Ur to the earth. The students cursed him in Khmer. Ur scrambled to recover his posture. Met Din repeated his statement. Ur responded in Khmer.

“Last night you were heard committing a sin of the flesh.” Ur stared at Met Din. “Answer.”

He did not know what to answer. “In rain, in wind, in health...” he began.

“Damn savage,” Met Din shouted. “You must confess. You will confess and promise to rebuild yourself a better person. You must promise loyalty to the Movement. You must learn to tremble. Masturbation is a sin against the People. Confess.”

“Confess,” screamed a student.

“Last night—” Ur began.

“Turn,” a side guard shouted. “To the students. Not to me.”

“Last night I—” Ur began again.

“You are scum,” Met Din interrupted.

“Scum,” Nang shouted. The word came out before his thought congealed.

“I will not do it again,” Ur said.

“You are buffalo shit,” Met Din screamed.

“He steals,” Pah shouted. “Tell all. Tell them how you steal water.”

“I am shit,” Student Ur said. “I promise to rebuild myself a good and pure person.”

“You are despicable.”

“I am despicable. I will try to rebuild myself...”

“Try?!
Try
?!” Met Din screamed. “You may die trying.”

“I
will
rebuild myself for the good of the Brotherhood of the Pure and the good of all Kampuchea.”

Met Din shouted, “And the water...”

As the kosang progressed the students, boys ten to thirteen, became more and more aggressive, swearing angrily, spitting on Ur, jumping up and poking or shoving him. Two, three at a time they surrounded him, screaming insults and abusing him.

“The Movement wishes the offender to be punished,” Din said. The students sat. “Those of you who wish to receive the great honor of becoming yotheas of the Movement will decide the appropriate punishment.”

A silence fell over the kosang hut. Met Din sat motionless, unblinking, eyes fixed on the seated. No one spoke. No one moved. They had never gone this far and they were unsure how to proceed. Nang stared at Ur. He felt horrified. How, he thought, how could Ur have done such a disgusting thing? Behind Nang, Eng stood. He bowed, stood at attention, said, “Place him in the stocks for one night.” Eng sat. The guards remained motionless. Student Kun in the first row stood. “No water or food for one day.” Silence continued. Little Pah arose, “Ten lashes with the split bamboo club.” He sat. There was silence. A pang of guilt flooded Nang’s mind. Still silence. Then Kun stood again. “Two days in stocks without food or water.” The quiet pauses between suggested punishments shortened. “Hang him by his feet.” “Let us each flail him with the bamboo.” “Slice his fingertips.” “Club him.” Nang had not spoken. Met Din stared into Nang’s eyes. The guards converged their ghastly glowers. Nang’s breath shortened. A quivering rolled up from his abdomen, up through his shoulders, out the nape of his neck. He stood. Words came out. He sat. He had not heard his own words: “Tear his genitals from his body.”

Met Din stood slowly. He shook his head. “Savages.” He smiled. “Student Ur.” Ur stood, turned and knelt facing the table. He had heard. He expected the worst. “The Movement is just, lenient, kind. Do you hate imperialists?”

“I hate imperialists.”

“Do you hate the monarchy?”

“I loathe the monarchy.”

“Do you hate yuons.”

“I despise yuons.”

“Should your genitals be ripped from your body?” Ur looked at Din. He could not answer. Sweat broke from his brow, trickled from his temples. “Yes?”

“No,” Ur said weakly.

Din smiled. “Of course not,” he said. He glared at Nang.

Nang’s eyes met his, darted to the others. He felt humiliated, not by the punishment he’d suggested, but because Din had singled him out with his stare and rejected his demand.

“Not,” Din smiled again, “at the first infraction. The Movement yet has use for you.”

Once fear had become permanent it took only mild guidance and the threat of punishment to lead the students to true cruelty, to the total enjoyment of seeing others in pain. Political-ideological indoctrination and military training served to direct their cruelty, to give them efficient means of performance. From the fourth week of school, under the guise of jungle survival, the students practiced capturing, torturing and killing various kinds of animals. “Those who hesitate go hungry,” Met Din announced.

The fifth week their rations were suspended. “Eat from the forest,” Din told them. The sixth week they received bayonets and were turned loose on Pong Pay Mountain. Nang became so proficient at catching mice he could have fed his entire class. Instead, he ate his fill and systematically tortured those left. He built small kindling piles and tethered the animals to branches at the center. Then he lit the piles and watched the desperate creatures leap, trying to stay above the flames, screech, then frantically try to dig below, finally, in agony, expire and sizzle. Every day he developed new variations to tell the guards about. Kindling circles with six, eight, ten mice tethered to a stake at the center. The mice would push and bite one another trying to escape from the heat. Nang found their cruelty to one another fascinating.

The school had a deep narrow crocodile pit into which monkeys could be thrown. The elation, the applause, was tremendously fulfilling if one could catch a monkey for all to watch. In their seventh week Nang and Eng captured a large monkey and presented it to Met Din.

“This is a fine animal,” Met Din congratulated the students. “Today, you be the instructors. I’ll watch with the class.” Eng tied the monkey’s arms behind its back. Nang hooked his rope about the animal’s neck, hooked it exactly as he himself had been hooked in the dark the night he was brought to the school. The monkey shrieked, lunged, struggled against the restraints. “Make him run with you,” a cadreman called, and Nang took off at a sprint. The monkey ran but soon stumbled facedown and screamed. Nang jerked it up, ran again. Again the animal fell and shrieked. The students laughed, the cadres applauded. The teasing continued, transformed to torture. At this point in their training, the only time students were permitted to smile or laugh was during torture. Many became addicted to sadism. The animal, expressing so much anguish, so uncomprehending, displaying such human traits, made the crowd guffaw.

“Hack off his tail,” Kun yelled, and Nang immediately flourished his honed bayonet. For weeks their physical training had focused on hand-to-hand combat, jujitsu, karate and bayonet. Nang leaped, kicked the animal. As it sprawled Nang whisked off its tail and flung it to the crowd. Again the animal screamed.

“The pit! The pit!” the mob chanted. Everyone pushed in. Nang and Eng untied the animal to keep their cords. They held it head down over the crocodiles below. The monkey shook spasmodically, lurched to no avail. Then it let out an eerie low moaning the likes of which Nang had never heard. It disgusted and horrified him. It sounded like prayer. Nang’s nostril’s flared. He reared up whipping the monkey overhead, then snapped his arms forward, down, flinging the animal toward the crocodiles. About him giggles, laughs, titters, hoorahs. And from below the moan, the moan apparently unperceived by all except Nang.

Indoctrination never ceased. From the very highest levels of Khmer Krahom policymaking came this understanding and direction—the greater one’s belief in a cause, the greater one’s effort and sacrifice. Classes began with the chant: In wind, in rain, in health, in sickness, day or night, we will obey, correctly and without complaint, that which the Movement orders. Again and again, repeated endlessly for months. Classes closed with the call, “Victory to the Revolution!”

Lectures delivered by information cadremen were highly informative—usually ending in militant zealousness. “During the colonial period,” they were told, “Cambodian money went to France for the purchase of manufactured goods neither desired nor needed by Kampucheans. Money which should have been used to develop the nation was diverted to the colonialists and imperialists. When the rubber plantations brought in French currency, even though the Khmer laborers were paid well, it was all to serve France. Those who tended the plantations were paid more than all other Kampucheans but they were charged more to live and their living conditions were poorer than those of any others in the nation. And their money forced prices up throughout the land and made all Kampucheans poorer.”

As Nang listened he felt as if in his mind there existed an impervious bubble in which someone had told him these things before. Who the someone had been, he did not attempt to recall.

“During the nineteen-twenties, thirties, and forties, landownership was taken from the peasants by the banks. Ownership concentrated in the hands of the capitalists.”

Yes, Nang thought. The triple exploitation.

“...Sihanouk sponsored co-op lending, but with his feudal mentality he let the capitalists burden the People with ‘whatever the market will bear.’ Corruption is a remnant of feudal mentality...”

Yes. Colonialists. The monarchy. Imperialists.

“...in his new-government, the feudal power structure was left intact. Provincial governors continued to steal the wealth of their subjects.”

I’ve been told this before.

“...they have been corrupted by an economic system based on private profit. We must struggle to build a society unmarred by selfishness, unblemished by passions for material possessions, unfouled by privileges. We shall create a
new man
,
a new mankind.
”

Nang’s eyes were fastened to the instructor’s lips. Perhaps the words heard were those spoken, perhaps in his mind he dredged up old thought and added meaning under the new light of his indoctrination. “We shall obtain mastery over the waters,” the words formed in his mind. “Cambodia covered the Ca Mau Peninsula because we controlled the water.”

One evening Met Sar addressed Nang’s class. “To achieve victory, to defeat the enemies of the People, you will have to withstand long periods of denial. You will be strong, powerful. You will not know fear. Death, injury, will be without significance. Rid yourselves of desire and passion and you shall be unstoppable.”

The class rose as one, chanted in one voice, “I am desire not contrary to duty. I am the sacrifice. I will do whatever the Movement asks. I am happy to serve. I will die for the Movement if it is so deemed.”

In the years which followed Nang’s indoctrination, much of the academic portion of the Liberation School training would be abandoned, swept away in the tremendous deluge of volunteers and forced recruits, but the early training would remain at the foundation of the Krahom myth and ideology as the early conscripts later became the core cadres of Angkar Leou and of the nation.