My Blog

Reflection

2009-01-04T09:40:00.000-08:00

(Picture courtesy of Mr. Charles C. King)

On December 27, 2008, the Cambodian-American Community of Oregon (CACO) hosted its 6th Annual Khmer Heritage Night. Leading up to the event, Portland was hard hit by an arctic storm that left more than fourteen inches of snow on the ground for about a week. The event was nearly canceled but successfully drew about 400 people including local public figures such Mayor Tom Potter and Sho Dozono. One of my personal guests was Jigme Topgyal (an exiled Tibetan who met His Holiness the Dalai Lama in 1959 in a refugee camp and a key person who helped bring His Holiness to visit Portland in 2001). My guests also included Filmmaker and Humanitarian Tiara Delgado (whose one of her documentary films Fragile Hopes was narrated by Actress Susan Sarandon).

At the opening, I gave a reflection as follow:

It is easy to lose ourselves as the world faces war, hunger, genocide, poverty, and injustice. It is easy to lose our perspective as our nation is struggling with the economic recession. It is particularly inconvenient to deal with the unusual snow and ice.

So, I encourage you to reflect on who we are individually and who we are as a community.

Who are we?

Who are you?

Who am I?

What am I?

I was a leaf at the mercy of the wind. The wind carried me from one remote part of the world to another. It blew me through turbulence and catastrophic weather. It took me to the Khmer Rouge labor camp and lingered for an eternity. It dehydrated me and nearly starved me to death. I helplessly watched the most devilish mother of all winds crush my tree into lifeless pulp. Like an almighty Olympian god, when the wind wanted to toy with me, it blew me through minefields, rockets and bullets. While two million leaves disintegrated, I persevered. Through an extraordinary journey, I discovered myself. I am fortunate, and I don’t easily perish. I was a golden leaf. Against all odds, I survived, laid down roots and became a tree.

I am a tree, but I am a tree among you.

That makes us a community of trees…a forest…and a force that makes the world a better place.

That is what we are.

Portland Mayor Tom Potter Celebrated Khmer New Year

2008-07-06T01:27:00.000-07:00

Photographer Charles King took this picture during the Khmer New Year at Portland State University. The event was sponsored by the Cambodian Dance Troupe of Oregon and the PSU Cambodian Student Association on April 12, 2008.

From left to right: Mayor Tom Potter, Mayor Potter's wife Karin Hansen, my wife Lisa Ung and me.

Notice, Mayor Potter, Lisa and I are fellow alumni of Cleveland High School -- Philip H. Knight (Founder of Nike) and Sho Dozono (Owner of Azumano Travel) also graduated from Cleveland High School. Cleveland rocks!

Although Mayor Tom Potter did not get my vote (which I now regret), he is my all time favorite mayor. Mayor Bud Clark exposed himself to arts. I believe Mayor Potter exposed himself and the City Hall to all people. It is my hope that our future mayors continue to expose themselves and the City Hall to all people.

My visit to the White House

2008-07-06T00:26:00.000-07:00

In March of 2008, U.S. Ambassador to U.N. Sichan Siv gave his presentation at the White House. He invited me, and I went:

Below is a picture of me inside the Old Executive Office posing with Ambassador Siv and his wife:

This was where I stayed:

To learn more about Ambassador Siv, visit http://www.sichansiv.com/.

Virtual War Zone on 4th of July (PTSD)

2008-07-05T00:53:00.000-07:00

4th of July is a special day for Americans to celebrate America’s independence from Britain. Unfortunately, the fireworks can easily trigger terrible fear, anxiety, loneliness, horrible memory, depression and insomnia for those who have lived through combat zone and now suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). I am one of those people. I have lived through the war in Cambodia before the Khmer Rouge took over Cambodia and during the invasion and occupation of Vietnam in Cambodia after 1979.

I am blogging at this moment because I just got woken up by the bangs of the unofficial fireworks in the neighborhoods. Now I am having trouble going back to sleep. The more I tried to force myself to sleep the more I am awake reliving my memory of the Khmer Rouge genocide which killed two million Cambodians including my parents (who were starved to death).

Leading up to tonight I was well prepared to cope with the fireworks.

On Thursday July 3rd, I was on Think Out Loud (a program of OPB Radio) to share with the radio audience my own personal experience on how I cope with the fireworks. I told the host Emily Harris and the people who suffer from PTSD that one way to cope with the firework is to be up close and personal beneath a firework display. So tonight, I took my children to Willamette Park and watch the fireworks up close. I truly enjoyed and appreciated the firework. Practically beneath the fireworks, I was able to distinguish the fireworks from the rockets, bullets and explosions in a war zone.

Having marched in the Hillsboro 4th of July Parade this morning (as a Royal Rosarian), I was exhausted and went right to sleep after watching the fireworks tonight. I did it. I managed to prevent the fireworks from becoming a powerful trigger to my PTSD.

Yes, I did it… until a bang woke me up. My heart was pounding involuntarily. Not fully awake, I thought I was in the middle of a combat zone. The presence of the supposed bullets and rockets were momentarily real to me. My horrible memories of the Khmer Rouge labor camps and genocide haunted me.

I am having a headache and my brain isn’t working. I am very tired but cannot fall asleep. I feel like I am in a combat zone. My only comfort is my belief that I am coping better than most of my fellow PTSD victims especially many American veterans. As I know that tomorrow will be a great day for me despite tonight’s nightmare, my heart goes out to those who may not be able to see tomorrow in the same light as I.

Happy 4th of July!

Letter From U.S. Senator Ron Wyden Regarding Aki Ra

2008-04-28T22:18:00.000-07:00

From: Kilong Ung kilongung@gmail.com

Date: Mon, Apr 28, 2008

Subject: Re: Aki Ra and Cambodian Self Help Demining NGO

To: "Rockower, Lisa (Wyden)

Lisa,

(In the future, please call me Kilong).

Thank you for your help. Please pass on my gratitute to Senator Wyden. His letter is helpful in empowering Aki Ra and the Cambodian Self Help Demining (CSHD) to be a big part of a force that makes the world a better place.

Sincerely,

--

Kilong Ung

http://kilongung.blogspot.com

Leverage the past to make the world a better place, one person at a time.

---------- Forwarded message ----------

On Mon, Apr 28, 2008 at 9:43 AM, Rockower, Lisa (Wyden) wrote:

Mr. Ung.

Attached is a copy of the letter from Senator Wyden that you should be receiving shortly. Please let me know if we can be of further assistance.

-Lisa

Lisa Rockower
State Director
United States Senator Ron Wyden
1220 SW 3rd, Suite 585
Portland, OR 97204

Congressman Earl Blumenauer's Endorsement Letter

2008-04-12T01:04:00.000-07:00

From: Kilong Ung
Date: Fri, Apr 11, 2008 at 12:24 PM
Subject: Fwd: Meeting with U.S. Rep. Earl Blumanauer's Chief of Staff
To: CACOmembers, Youths

My CACO family,

I slept exactly one hour last night... and it paid off.

By the end of today, I will have in my hand a letter with Congressman Earl Blumenauer's signature and letterhead to endorse Aki Ra's effort to clear mine and UXO in Cambodia. I could not have achieved this endorsement without your visibility and credibility.

My personal thanks to all of you who work very hard to keep CACO the talk of the town.

From the bottom of my heart, I am dedicating this particular achievement to CACO Founder, Past President and Board Director Choeun Neou. I began this effort with Rotarian Bill Morse and Synergy Consulting President Christine Chin Ryan about the same time that bong Choeun was planning his major surgery to remove a chunk of his infected intestine. Right off the bat, I had this dedication in mind. This dedication is a part of the force that drove me to work hard to achieve this endorsement.

Our community owes a tremendous gratitute to Christine Chin Ryan who was instrumental in convincing Congressman Earl Blumenauer. I had the pleasure of meeting one of Congressman Earl Blumenauer's director Joyce Flemming. I believe our community has gained another compassionate and powerful friend. Last but not least, we owe our gratitude to my fellow Rotarian Bill Morse who is in Cambodia right now helping the Cambodian Self Help Demining and Aki Ra who puts his life to save others by clearing mines and UXO.

Today is our Cambodian New Year's Eve, and I hope (my New Year wish) that this incredibly good news for our community is just a starter of the bigger and better things coming our way. CACO has a lot to protect and a lot to gain. With the most energetic executive team ever, CACO right now is in the position to make the world a better place, one NGO at a time.

Let us keep bong Choeun in our thoughts and prayers...
Let us unite, preserve and empower...
Let us leverage our past to make the world a better place...
Let us be the talk of the town...

Let's party!

Happy New Year!

Love,

--
Kilong Ung
http://kilongung.blogspot.com/
Leverage the past to make the world a better place, one person at a time.

From the Khmer Rouge Killing Fields to the voting booth

2008-02-24T03:11:00.000-08:00

As an immigrant and a former Cambodian refugee, I am dismayed by how often my fellow immigrants and former refugees told me that they are not registered to vote. “Leave it to the politicians” was the frequent view on the voting. Furthermore, there are registered voting immigrants who do not vote – squandered privileges.

Last December, my 10-year old son and I took a taxi to meet my wife and my 8-year old daughter at my community’s annual banquet. I have taught my son to appreciate his privileges as a born American. He has been following the 2008 election and developing some interest in exercising his voting right when he gets to be old enough to vote. Then here, the taxi driver was an immigrant from one of war-torn African countries. He and I had a great conversation until the subject of 2008 election came up. He went off on a conspiracy theory that each presidential election outcome has been predetermined by the “GOVERNMENT”. Trying to be a good American (and safeguard my son’s impression on this new revelation of the American voting system), I got into a less than pleasant discussion with the driver. At the end, I failed to convince him as he pointed out that people elected Al Gore, but the “GOVERNMENT” already decided to make George Bush the president.

Even though the taxi driver was an immigrant, I would not be surprised to hear a similar cynical view even from a non-immigrant. There are many good reasons and excuses to why people don’t vote. Nonetheless, I want to inspire all Americans (especially my fellow immigrants and former refugees) to vote.

The poor Mexican immigrants risk their lives across the south border of the U.S. in hope to become Americans. Like them, I and my fellow former Cambodian refugees risked our lives crossing the minefields and bullets to get out of Cambodia. Therefore, it is profoundly important for those of us who are Americans (naturalized or born) to honor our American voting privileges.

Let's help others register, let's register, and let's vote.

I would be proud to carry a sign in public that says: "Khmer Rouge genocide survivor, a registered American voter". Your sign may not be like mine as you are not likely a genocide survivor, but you get the idea.

To my fellow immigrants, I am asking you to leverage your past and difficult journey to lead and inspire all Americans to vote. Your voices and actions in the American election process are extremely crucial because when the world sees you in the U.S., the world sees the U.S. as a great nation, the land of the ultimate DIVERSITY.

Let’s make the world a better place, one registered voter at a time.
Let's help others register.
Let's register.
Let's VOTE.

(If you enjoy this posting, please share with your friends. A force that makes the world a better place can definitely use your help.)

CACO Youth Joined MTI in Cambodia

2008-02-03T13:17:00.000-08:00

(Picture courtesey of Chanly Bob)

It has been a while since I last blogged because I have been busy writing my memoirs “An American Rotarian Who Survived The Khmer Rouge Genocide”. However, I am inspired by my fellow Rotarian and friend Dale to write this blog.

Dr. Dale Canfield, DMD and his dental professional friends (such as Dr. Richard Park, DMD) have been volunteering with the Medical Team International (MTI) for years. Each year, they take two weeks off from their busy schedule and travel to Cambodia to help the Cambodian orphans with dental needs. Their effort includes dental cleaning, filling, extraction, education, etc.

Coming from Battambang (a province in Cambodia), I knew all too well about the poor dental health and the lack of dental health awareness. Until I came to the U.S. in 1979 after surviving the Khmer Rouge genocide, I never heard of dental floss. I never brushed during the Khmer Rouge. Before the Khmer Rouge, the number of my brushing can be counted on one hand. I lived with the excruciating toothache that many of these orphans are now experiencing. I came to this country with holes in my teeth – “cavity” is not a word strong enough to describe it. The silver fillings in my back teeth serve as a reminder of how far I have come and how fortunate I am today.

The effort of Dale and the other MTI folks to serve these Cambodian orphans has earned the ultimate gratitude from the Cambodian-American Community of Oregon (CACO) and of course my profound gratitude.

In addition to serving the orphans in Cambodia, Dale and MTI have helped CACO achieve one of its long standing dreams. CACO had a dream to send its youth to Cambodia as humanitarian volunteers. This dream was spawned from the community’s desire to teach its children the Cambodian heritage and traditional value of giving back. Today’s youth often forget how good we have it here. Going to Cambodia with the MTI team instills the values of service above self and appreciation for the good life here.

In 2006, Dale managed to raise enough fund to fulfill CACO’s dream. Dreaming was easy, but when the dream became a reality, CACO was met with the lack of courage. Sending a youth on his/her own to Cambodia was new and uneasy for the parents. I sent out a couple round of emails to the community, but no one responded. By the third round of email, a West View High School senior Sidhtara Tep responded to my email and expressed her interest (and worry about her safety and expense). With her parents’ permission, I invited her to the Rotary Club of Portland and introduced her to Dale. Dale handed her a plane ticket, and the rest was history as Sidhtara is now regarded in the community as the CACO youth pioneer to travel with the MTI team. Sidhtara is currently attending Stanford on a full scholarship (and most likely become a great dentist).

Sidhtara’s pioneering inspired two youth (Davin Mao and Sidney Tan) to travel with the team this year. As a believer in the Fibonacci’s Rabbits, I am optimistic that at this rate, MTI and CACO will see greater number of CACO youth make the future trips. That would be the extraordinary force that makes the world a better place, one youth at a time.

For your pleasure and inspiration, on behalf of CACO, I invite you to browse the pictures of the recent trip made by Davin, Sidney and the MTI dental team (courtesy of Chanly Bob) and watch the community welcome back the team from Cambodia (You Tube courtesy of David Lim).

Thank you for reading this blog. Your reading and sharing this story make you a part of a force that makes the world a better place, one person at a time.

A symbol of the Oregon flag

2007-10-14T10:15:00.000-07:00

My fellow Royal Rosarians and I will be marching in the Veterans Day Parade on Sunday, November 11, 2007 in the Hollywood District.

I requested the honor to carry the Oregon flag in the parade. I am delighted that my request is honored. This means a great deal to me for the following reason:

My personal experience with the Khmer Rouge genocide destroyed my religious faith and nearly eradicated my faith in humanity. Oregon is a special place to me. Many Oregonians have been a part of a force that rebuilt my faith in humanity. My carrying the Oregon flag will be a symbol of my profound gratitude toward those who helped ease my journey from the Khmer Rouge Killing Fields to the Royal Rosaria.

I want to publicly thank Portland Mayor Tom Potter and his wife Karin for introducing me to the Royal Rosarians. I want to thank Sir Knight Raymond Hanson for sponsoring me into the Royal Rosarians. I want to thank all the Royal Rosarians for including me as a part of a force that makes the world a better place, one person at a time.

I want to thank all the U.S. veterans who sacrificed to keep us safe, keep our friends as our friends, inspire our enemies to be our friends, and promote world peace.

Last but not least, I want to thank the Khmer veterans who fought against the Khmer Rouge before 1975 and those who liberated me and my fellow Cambodians in 1979 from the Khmer Rouge's communist regime.

Rain or shine, I will carry the Oregon flag above my heart with tears and smile!

Please come and celebrate with me the Veterans Day Parade.

From the Killing Fields to the White House

2007-10-09T22:14:00.000-07:00

This picture was taken at my house last April. In the picture are my two children and Ambassador Sichan Siv.

Ambassador Siv's journey from the Khmer Rouge Killing Fields to the White House offers many former genocide survivors (such as me) aspiration, pride and hope.

Last week, Ambassador Siv emailed me an article written about his journey. I am so impressed that I want to share it with you.

Click here to read the article.

Bicyclists and renewable energy

2007-09-24T00:17:00.000-07:00

Today, I had the privilege to meet with one of the candidates running for the 2008 U.S. Senate. In a small group, we discussed a number of topics including Iraq War, healthcare, education, renewable energy and economy.

In discussing the topic of the renewable energy, the candidate brought up the possible applications of the solar energy and windmill energy. One person brought up the idea of the wave energy. I suggested that we find a way to empower the bicyclists to generate and sell electricity. As you can imagine, my suggestion was not taken seriously. It generated plenty of giggles and laughs. Well, it should because I was not serious either. I was just trying to be funny. Ah, but there is a little truth to every joke, and this joke is no exception.

On my way home, I had reflected on the joke…

My idea is that bicyclists should do more than just saving the energy; they should make the energy. Laugh if you wish, but a man didn’t just one day land on the moon. Someone had an idea, and perhaps it was a ridiculous idea at the time. Columbus and Galileo had their shares of ridicules. So laugh if you wish, but keep in mind that anything is possible. For example, can you imagine a Khmer Rouge genocide survivor graduated from Reed College and now is a Rotarian and a Royal Rosarian?

From my past personal sui generis experience, I believe anything is possible. So imagine this with me…

Today there are millions of bicyclists in the U.S. and billions around the globe. Those bicyclists aren’t consuming energy. That’s a huge contribution to keeping the earth sustainable, and save the world from its oil addition. But, why stop at saving? Why not cross over from saving energy to making energy.

Three components are necessary to make this work:
1. Light and small electric generator mountable on a bicycle
2. Station where a bicyclist can pull up and sell the generated electricity
3. Marketing that promotes bicycling to produce energy, make money and be fit

Now imagine millions of Americans become more active in the routine bicycling, bicycle marathons, and speed races. Can you think of a greater motivation than making money? Instead of spending money at a gas station, wouldn’t one rather make money at an electric station?

Now laugh if you wish, but I hope that one day you would laugh on your way to your bank – on a bicycle, of course.

Finally, imagine that billions of bicyclists around the world generate electricity. Would we still be at the mercy of the oil-rich nations? Would we still be debating whether to drill for oil in the Alaskan wildlife refuge? Would China still want to dam the Mekong River? Would we still need to spend money on the fish hatcheries to save the salmon?

I invite you to be a part of a force that makes the world a better place, one person at a time. Unlike the times of Columbus’s and Galileo’s, our time has the internet for rallying thoughts, collaborating ideas and mobilizing actions. I urge you to share this posting with your friends around the world and see to where this ridiculous idea leads.

Carrying U.S. flag

2007-09-16T23:10:00.000-07:00

From the evening of my knighting ceremony to September 15, 2007, I had the privilege to march in the following parades:

• 45th Annual St. John Parade
• Portland Rose Festival’s Starlight Parade
• Portland Rose Festival’s Centennial Grand Floral Parade
• Hillsboro Annual 4th of July Parade
• Battle Ground Harvest Days Parade
• Capitol Lakefair Parade
• 50th Annual Beaverton Celebration Parade

50th Annual Beaverton Celebration Parade

2007-09-15T00:02:00.000-07:00

Here is my original message to my fellow Royal Rosarians:

-------------- Original message --------------
From: "Kilong Ung"

My Fellow Royal Rosarians,

The U.S. flag has a profound meaning to me. It is my constant reminder of where I came from, where I am, where I am going and what legacy I will leave. Like many Americans, I don't always agree with the U.S. policies, but I am always proud to be an American. I hold the flag in a very special place in my heart.

This weekend, September 15, 2007, we, the Royal Rosarians, the Goodwill Ambassadors of the City of Portland will march in the 50th Annual Beaverton Celebration Parade. This march will be very special to me for these reasons:

I will be carrying the U.S. flag in honor of the two millions Cambodians died as a result of the Khmer Rouge genocide
I will march in memories of the 9/11 victims and heroes
I will march with my thoughts on those who are still struggling around the world
I will march among my friends, the Royal Rosarians

I would be extremely honored, if one of you would step forward and carry the Oregon flag. You may dedicate it to the victims and heroes of 9/11... (or to what/whoever most profound to you). Either way, you would be giving me a profound honor by contacting Sir Knight Rob Hungerford to let him know that you would like to carry the Oregon flag.

I am looking forward to the parade and to the Prime Minister's Inaugural Ball.

Sir Knight Kilong Ung
http://www.kilongung.com http://www.kilong-ung.blogspot.com
Leverage the past, ameliorate the present, shape the future, and leave a legacy.
-------------- End of original message --------------

Sir Knight Gordon V. Walker has volunteered to carry the Oregon flag. Here’s an excerpt from his email to me:

“Your email was very moving, and I have just talked with Rob and will have the honor of marching beside you this Saturday. Thank you for the opportunity and look forward to seeing you there.”

I hope you are as inspired as Sir Knight Walker and come out to Beaverton to join me celebrate the 50th Annual Beaverton Celebration Parade at 10am on Saturday, September 15th, 2007. I encourage you to dedicate your celebration to your profound something or someone – e.g., 9/11, Katrina, tsunami victims, hunger, peace, etc.

Royal Rosarian

2007-09-10T22:38:00.000-07:00

Royal Rosarian remains strong advocate for Khmer community issues

RoyalRosarianKilongUng.pdf

By Maileen Hamto
The Asian Reporter

Escaping Cambodia

2007-09-10T21:51:00.000-07:00

This photograph was taken at the refugee camp in Thailand near the border of Cambodia. In this picture with me are my brother-in-law Van Mealy Touch, my sister Sivheng Ung, and Mr. Mike Carrol.

While life in the refugee camp appears difficult, the life under the Khmer Rouge regime was incredibly horrible. Now, I live a comfortable life, and I am grateful for that. So I am giving back. I urge you to give back and become a part of a force that makes the world a better place, one person at a time.

Sincerely,

Kilong Ung
http://www.kilongung.com

When the Khmer Rouge took over Cambodia in 1975, I was just a boy who completed 7th grade in the Provincial City of Battambang. After nearly five years on my own under the Khmer Rouge regime and as the only male left in the family, I thought I was the head of the household who would traditionally call shots. Although I was now the youngest in the family, the deaths of my parents and my older brother-in-laws should make me the man of the family. That lasted for a short while until my sister Sivheng came home one day shortly after the Vietnamese had driven the Khmer Rouge out of Cambodia.

A couple of years prior to the fall of Cambodia into the atrocious hands of the Khmer Rouge in the midst of April 1975, my third-oldest sister Sivheng had left my family in Battambang province to Phnom Penh for a desk job. My family completely lost contact with Sivheng throughout the Khmer Rouge era. During the anarchy caused by the invasion of the Vietnamese armies in 1979, Sivheng suddenly showed up in Battambang and reunited with the family. To her horror, she had learned our immediate family had lost our parents, our maternal grandmother, two brother-in-laws, our youngest sister and one nephew to starvation and execution.

Our home was completely demolished, and our land was squatted. We were homeless shacking up with a family friend. Although, Sivheng intended to cross the border to Thailand, being an orphan and homeless made her decision to go to Thailand easier.

After a couple of weeks in Battambang, Sivheng made friends with Van Mealy Touch (Mealy). As their friendship quickly developed, Sivheng and Mealy collaborated on a plan to escape.

The fact that I was the only male left in the family and traditionally to be consulted on any family decision did not matter at all to Sivheng. Her mind was made up, and she was ready to escape Cambodia. Mealy was the added influence. I had no input in the matter. Furthermore, Sivheng gave me a direct order to get ready for escaping into Thailand.

My other sisters had difficult choices to make. For one reason or another, mostly due to their respective family commitments, they all chose to stay. My heart was once again broken because we just reunited and had yet to reconcile our feelings of loss and celebrate our reunion; now, we would once again be separated.

Mixed emotions were flying around in the family for a few days before the journey into Thailand started. Some emotions were easily shared and spoken out loud among the family members and close relatives. Deep and not easily understood emotions were kept individually. Deep hugs, longing stares, prolonging hand-clasps and excruciating sobs took the place of the otherwise spoken farewell.

I yearned for the trip to happen which made the few-days waiting rather long. I was excited because something new and adventurous was about to happen in my life. The wait was unbearable. The protracted farewell by family and friends was even more unbearable. I experienced all range of emotions but mostly guilt and sadness.

Ironically, the wait was over far quicker than I anticipated. Emotionally I was not ready to leave. I did not feel I had said everything I needed to say to my sisters nor heard everything I needed to hear from my sisters. I did not share with my sister enough of the deep hugs, longing stares, prolonging hand-clasps and excruciating sobs. I felt as if my heart were cut out of my chest or a chunk of flesh were removed from my stomach.

Throughout the entire trip, I went back and forth between elation and guilt. (To today I am still struggling to reconcile my happiness and guilt.)

Mealy, Sivheng and I traveled on foot towards Thailand. Mealy and Sivheng, each brought a few changes of clothes. I only had the clothes that I was wearing. We didn’t have any money because the Khmer Rouge had abolished the monetary system and the country was still in a chaotic war. One of my brother-in-laws gave me a tiny piece of gold in exchange for my ox which I looted in the midst of battle-chaos.

We tried to be as least conspicuous as possible on our journey. We only traveled in daylight. Morning was the most opportunistic time to travel because there were more people out searching for food and other survival necessities. We would walk all morning on a war-ruined highway and settled in just off the road in the afternoon. We pretended to be squatters. It was not difficult because we had to rest and eat. We weren’t able to bring along our traps for the obvious reason. We did our best to catch fish, eels, frogs, grasshoppers, etc. by hand along the highway. Food was scarce because everyone was scavenging for whatever available.

After days of clandestine travel, we met and joined other escapees. There were approximately thirty people in the group which made up of various ages including a few babies. Everyone’s anxiety (including mine) escalated from day to day as we temporarily squatted in a huge abandoned farmhouse near the Thai border.

As the only English speaker in the group, Mealy monitored an underground radio broadcasted in English language. Mealy told the other escapees to wait a week or so because the Thai government was sending the Cambodian refugees back into Cambodia through the treacherous mountain (Phnom Dongrek) protected by minefields. Rumor was also flying around that scores of Cambodian refugees were shot dead by Thai soldiers as they refused to be repatriated back into Cambodia.

We waited and waited while Mealy continued to monitor the situation.

While waiting for an opportunistic moment to resume our escape, a neighboring family from my hometown arrived and joined with us. A daughter of the family who was also a friend of my sister Sivheng told us that my other sister Sivleng was in a nearby town, Svay Sisophon.

Since Sivheng had not seen Sivleng since 1975, she wanted to go back and find her. We also hoped that we could convince Sileng to come along. At the least, we wanted to say our farewell since we had no hope of ever seeing her again. So Sivheng and I decided to head back to Svay Sisophon.

After an entire day on foot and a dusty road, we arrived in Svay Sisophon. It was not difficult to find Sivleng. Sivleng was well but romantically involved and did not want to leave. All three of us stayed up practically all night crying and catching up. Sivheng and I returned to the farmhouse the next day.

Days, or perhaps a week or two had gone by as Mealy continued to monitor the situation. We continued to keep an appearance of a squatter. We caught fish by hand and hunted birds with slingshots. We traded whatever possible for salt and rice.

One morning, the most anticipated good news arrived. Concerned by the actions taken by the Thai government to send the Cambodian refugees back into Cambodia through a landmine infested mountain-range border, the international communities decided to expedite the process of moving all refugees out of Thailand.

The opportunistic time had come and we planned to resume our border crossing the next day.

That afternoon, Mealy and I went out to find food. We were hoping to catch some fish by hand at a lake located about a kilometer away from the farmhouse. Along the side of the lake we saw a man walking with his retriever trotting playfully behind him. Apparently, the man was better off than we were. He had on his shoulders a long fishing pole, a few traps and an arch bow. By our standard, he dressed well and appeared native.

The man barely noticed us and gave us a brief and stingy glace as if Mealy and I were a disease as he and his dog passed us by. Ironically, his dog gave us a much kinder greeting. It came and tried to lick my hand. The man rudely called his dog away but not before I manage to secretly spit into the dog’s mouth.

In Cambodia, it was a common knowledge passed down from generation to generation that a dog would follow you as if you were its master if you spit in its mouth. I had never seen any proof until that afternoon.

I noticed the dog’s hesitance as it was called repeatedly by its master. There was something about this dog. Oddly, I felt a brief spiritual connection with this dog because it kept looking into my eyes. It responded to the call, ran a little bit towards its master, stopped and turned to stare at me. This ceremonial behavior was repeated until both the man and the dog disappeared into the distance.

Mealy and I went on our way in the opposite direction. It wasn’t long before the dog returned and caught up with us. Mealy and I looked at each other, and without a spoken word, we knew we got ourselves a good meal. Suddenly, we both began to walk really fast as if to get away from the dog. However, in actuality, we knew we wanted to get to the camp before the man came looking for his dog. The dog kept up with us through the wooded area, across a field and to the farmhouse.

That early evening, Mealy and a few other men slaughtered the dog and the women prepared a meal. We celebrated our luck and the good news. The quiet festivity went on for a couple of hours after nightfall. Then we went to bed, but the anxiety kept us up most of the night tossing and turning. (I might have slept an hour or two just before my sister woke me up for the trip.)

Never been outside of my third-world province, let alone the country, I felt an indescribable excitement… elation. As the group was preparing to start the trip, I imagined crossing the border to a very exciting world, a world at least as exciting as the one I once knew before the Khmer Rouge destroyed it.

I imagined electricity, running water, automobiles, colorful clothes and food. My most vivid memory was Coca Cola in the 1970s’ classic Coca Cola bottle.

Totally forgotten about the minefields, the Vietnamese soldiers, the Khmer Rouge and the vast scary unknown world I was about to face, I could hardly wait to start the trip. The short wait seemed like an eternity. I was annoyed by the babies who cried constantly, the women who had to pack their small belongings and the old folks who moved ever so slowly.

I kept looking at the eastern horizon anxiously hoping that dawn would not be coming up too soon. We would have to postpone the trip if we could not make it across the open fields into the woods before dawn because the Vietnamese soldiers were patrolling the fields to prevent the Khmer Rouge’s attack and the escape by the Cambodian people into Thailand.

I was ready. I was more than ready. I had my little piece of gold tugged snuggly in one of my nostrils -- (I don’t remember specifically which nostril). I had on my cotton shorts, my cotton shirt and my 2-inch platform sandals I made from a tire of an army truck. I was going somewhere into the future – uncertain, but a future nonetheless.

The wait was long, but the march in the dark across the fields was even longer. I was selfishly annoyed by the babies, women and old people. I kept thinking that my sisters sacrificed their opportunity to come along partly because they might have felt their family nuclei would slow us down. Yet, here, I was burdened, slowed down, by the strangers. I was angry but kept to myself because I knew my sister would not approve of such selfishness.

Angry and annoyed, but I was glad to reach the woods. Then, I was scared when four armed men approached us.

I knew immediately that the men were neither the Khmer Rouge nor the Vietnamese soldiers because the way they dressed and the weapons they carried. Similar to the Khmer Rouge, their uniforms were black. However, the uniforms were in a far better quality. They were made in the quality of the industrial-strength-military uniform instead of the cheap cotton uniform worn by the Khmer Rouge. Their western military boots, caps, backpacks, canteens and M-16 rifles were distinctively non-communistic. Their clean-cut hair and smooth-dark skin were the definitive contrast to the Khmer Rouge’s wild hair and bellicose-rough skin and the Vietnamese soldiers’ simple-cut hair and light skin. Their uniforms were definitely different from those of the Vietnamese soldiers. The Vietnamese soldiers wore lower quality simple green fatigues, technologically less sophisticated black army boots, and simple light green hats or caps. The M-16 rifles were the clear indication that the men were neither the Khmer Rouge nor the Vietnamese soldiers because both armies were armed with AK-47 riffles.

A few of my former neighbors were able to communicate with the men in Thai. As it turned out, the armed men were Thai bandits who regularly went deep into Cambodia waiting for any Cambodian escapees with valuable belongings. I was acutely aware of the piece of gold snuggly hidden inside one of my nostrils.

My former neighbors managed to convince the bandits that they have wealthy relatives in Thailand and the relatives would financially reward the bandits if the bandits would lead us safely into Thailand. So, led by the bandits, we resumed our journey in a narrow path through a jungle protected by landmines and unexploded ordnances.

We were not running, but we marched quietly and as fast as we could. Two bandits led the way. The other two bandits did their best to bring up the tail made up of the old people and families with little children and babies.

As the bandits took full charge of the trail, my neighbors seemed to be second in command. They did their best to translate the communications between the bandits and the other escapees. I noticed gripes and resentment directed to them by the slow people as they tried to speed up the crowd. I was annoyed and hoped that we would at some point ditch the slow people.

The sun barely reached 45 degree angle above the horizon when the Vietnamese patrols fired bullets and small rockets at us. Chaos, terror and panic, there were screams in Cambodian, Thai, Chinese and Vietnamese. Every man for himself, I ran as fast as I could. I neither slowed down for people who stepped on mines nor cared what happened to anyone else (including my sister) at that moment. The sound of the mine explosion and screams for help from other people only urged me to run faster and farther.

The sound of the firing guns, flying bullets, intimidating rockets, exploding land mines, screaming chaos faded. My adrenaline subsided but my heart was still pounding. Silence once again emerged as more and more people filed in and gathered into a group. Many old people, small children and families with babies were noticeably missing.

When my sister and Mealy caught up, I simply regarded as a matter of fact that they survived the shooting. Oddly enough, I was more concerned about missing the bandits than missing my sister, Mealy and my neighbors -- the bandits served as both the guides and the protectors.

Then I was disappointed that (through the chaos) I lost my sandals, but I was glad my clothes were untouched. My gold was still secured in my nostril. I was whole and ready to move on. The fact that I was physically unharmed went unappreciated in comparison to my trivial, materialistic possession.

All four bandits showed up unharmed along with my neighbors and their families. Overall only about two thirds of the people survived the vicious attack.

We must have run well over an hour, or so it seemed.

Calm, happy to be alive, everyone marched on. Every time a baby cried, I wanted to strangle it. I wanted to kill the baby’s entire family for putting me at risk. My heart pounded every time a bird made a startling chirp. My eyes constantly scanned my surroundings. I walked forward, backward and sideways. I looked up. I looked down. I looked left and right. My head was in constant turn whether I walked straight, forward, backward or otherwise.

My sister and I did not exchange a word. If there were any communication, it would have been non-verbal. No one else seemed to be interested in any conversation either. Like I, everyone else was in a constant mode of look out.

Near noon, we stopped for lunch. Everyone crouched in a circle. The bandits took out cans of sardines from their backpacks and shared with us because we lost much of our travel food during the shooting. Again, I was annoyed and angry at a baby who cried as we prepared to eat lunch.

Having lived the starvation, I thought the canned sardine was a priceless luxury. As I was about take my first bite of the sardine, the gold piece dislodged itself from my nostril and landed on the soft ground between my crouching feet. My heart was pounding once again. I immediately and instinctively moved my right foot to place my big toe over the gold piece. I discreetly lifted my head to see whether any of the bandits had noticed the gold piece. Inconspicuously, I picked up the gold piece with my right hand and lodged it back into its rightful place, my right nostril. I was quite aware that the gold piece was now muddy, but I was relieved that it was once again safely cached. Throughout the entire lunch I was neither able to completely tame my pounding heart nor able to enjoy the sardines. The luxurious sardines were simply just another lunch.

Grrrrrr! I could have put my nefarious grip around that crying baby. I could kill the stupid mother as well.

Despite the baby’s crying, the lunch was completed undisturbed. We must have traveled far enough from the Vietnamese patrol. We were deep into the jungle not knowing whether we were in Cambodia or Thailand. We passed big trees, small trees, brushes and open fields and crossed a few narrow creeks. There were no rivers in our path. The path was somewhat beaten. The bandits told us to stay within the path to avoid stepping on the landmines.

The repetitious scenery of the jungle made me feel like we were going in circles. I had doubts that we were going in the right direction. I imagined stepping on a landmine and dying. I imagined being ferociously eaten by a tiger. I imagined getting lost and becoming a cannibal. I imagined being killed by a cobra. I imagined being alone in the jungle.

I was bored. I was scared. I was afraid of what would come next. I was doubtful that the bandits would keep their promise. I thought that they would most likely sell me and Mealy into slavery and Sivheng to a brothel. I thought my neighbors’ relatives in Bangkok would not pay a reward on our accounts.

Uncertainty and fear cast regrets on me for leaving my home. I doubted Sivheng’s wisdom and decision to escape Cambodia. I wished I asserted my rightful influence as patriarch of the family. I wished I was not seduced by the idea that life is better in another world. I did just fine back at home with my looting for food from day to day to survive back home.

My worst fear came to reality when a group of about fifty Khmer Rouge gorillas appeared from nowhere and surrounded us as the sun stood westerly about thirty degrees below the high noon.

Sivly Ung

2007-09-10T21:28:00.000-07:00

This photograph was taken just before the Khmer Rouge took over Cambodia in 1975. Possession of a photograph during the Khmer Rouge regime was a crime punishable by torture and then death. One of my older sisters risked her life keeping this photograph hidden in her possession. My youngest sister Sivly and I are shown in the picture. Starvation has claimed Sivly's life sometime between 1975 and 1976.

I thank you for reading the following excerpt of my memoirs which I hope to publish soon. May this story inspire you to become a part of a force that makes the world a better place, one person at a time.

Sincerely,

Kilong Ung
http://www.kilongung.com

If one were awakened under a normal circumstance, one would certainly appreciate everything an early dawn of Cambodia had to offer in the countryside. A green pasture decorated by a variety of Asian trees. The concord of the very early morning blended with the natural chaos from the farm animals: the crow of the roosters, the mating rituals of the ducks, chickens, pigs, and geese, and the pleasant sounds of the wild birds. If one had paid close enough attention, one could even hear the fish in a nearby pond, a lake or a river.

Life in Cambodia under the communist regime of the Khmer Rouge was no normal circumstance. Still exhausted from the inhumane, sadistic, farm labor of the previous day, I was not easily awakened. There was nothing (not the loudest rooster, the most vicious tropical thunder nor a blast of artillery) could awake me. Yet two things never failed to wake me up. One was a whistle (or sometimes bell) sounded in the morning to let everyone know it was time to get up and start another day of hard and inhuman labor on the farm. The other was the excruciating hunger.

This particular morning, I was awakened by a hunger pain in my stomach. My previous supper was nothing more than a rationed bowl of rice porridge made solely from a tiny amount of white rice and the disproportionate amount of water.

Since I beat the whistle, I had some time to just sit there and gaze. Dazed, tired and hungry, I found myself scanning my surroundings searching for food or a glimpse of any hope… a glimpse of anything. Suddenly I set my sight on my youngest sister, Sivly heading out toward the village’s common well.

As if the Khmer Rouge weren’t brutal enough, the Mother Nature wasn’t too kind to the Cambodians either. In addition to the suffering that inflicted by the Khmer Rouge, my entire village (along with other villages in the province of Battambang) was punished by a drought. For months, our only source of water came from the lazy drips at the bottom of the well. Every day my sister collected roughly three pales of water from the bottom of the well to share between our three close families (my parents’, my oldest sister’s and my fourth sister’s).

Absentminded, I followed Sivly to the well. Sivly was barely eleven years old but a much brighter and more mature child than I was. Just before she reached the well, I was aware of my emotional agony, my pity, for my sister. I noticed her bare legs from knees down -- dry, cracked, stained and barefooted. Her entire body was covered only by an old ragged sarong rolled at the waist leaving the top of her body naked. From behind, through her exposed dry, rough skin, I could see her vertebra and the backside of her ribcage. If I weren’t so weak from hard labor and malnutrition, I could have picked her young frail body up with one hand.

Her dirty hair couldn’t look more beautiful that morning. With one pale in each hand, she turned and forced a tired and heartbreaking smile my way. No words could account our silent communication. I wanted to run to her, gather her in my arms, press my face to her bony cheek, stroke her dirty hair and tell her we will be alright.

I could have counted every rib racked up above her awkwardly bloated stomach. The appearance of her chest is no different from a chest of an eleven year old boy with malnutrition. With her famine face, her bigger-than-normal eyes and lips seemed oddly beautiful. Whatever sibling rivalry we had before, there remained no doubt that the deep bonding love and care between us were silently exchanged in that brief moment before she turned and ascended to the bottom of the well.

Standing on the rim of the well looking down, I saw my sister crouching among five or six other kids of her age and a couple of older women. The well was at least twenty feet deep and was dry about two-third down. I couldn’t help wondering what if the well collapsed.

Sad, hungry, nostalgic, tired (emotionally and physically) and indifferent, I mindlessly left my sister to her task at the bottom of the well. I walked back to my family’s straw hut and then awaited the whistle to start another day in hell.