There are wild stories afloat. We never eat the livers of the people we kill. We aren’t monsters. None of the lies are based on proof. Hear the truth!
The exodus took place without police brutality. There wasn’t much resistance. The justification for the evacuation was clear, and it was easy. It was the best way to cleanse the city of our enemies.
Filled with corruption, Phnom Penh was unhealthy. People knew they’d be better off in the countryside. But who were we? Surely we’re not as portrayed? I came from teaching at the Faculty of Law and Economics Sciences (1960-1964). We were forced into action. We’re still under constant attack.
Before taking over Tuol Sleng, Deuch distinguished himself as a schoolteacher. Even back then, he thought all Cambodians with different viewpoints than his were traitors and liars. Now he knows all of the techniques of his trade, knows how to maximize terror. That’s Deuch, who, as we’re apt to say, is one of the greatest interrogators of our time. But at Tuol Sleng, there is little need for torture, and we require confessions from everyone. More often than not, it was simply a matter of timing.
Consult our archives. Out of the 242 important cadres, who have been executed here during the past few months, not more than a few were tortured? Only a handful.
Bou Phuthang, you may be happy to hear, was assassinated. The man who assassinated him is well known: alias Vorn. According to French intelligence, Phuthang drew Vorn into the deadly game of insulting someone by forcing a rival to defend himself. So Vorn was only defending his honor. The French hushed up the matter. Since Hun Penn was more important than Phuthang, one could predict that he would also be assassinated. However, it never happened. I think that he felt embarrassed that he had to live with security. He died in Phnom Penh, and letters from him existed. They described a personal relationship with Prince Sihanouk.
A late old colonial hand, Denis Giteau, every day grew more afraid of being assassinated. Unfortunately he believed he had as much a right to Cambodia as any native. But most natives agree that the sort of thinking had stop.
A case in point, I think, can be found in what happened to Lon Nol. He seized power and then had a stoke. As this became known, there were those in and out of government who thought he had to go. He would, however, remain in office for four more years. Nixon liked him, because he did what he was told. America’s meddling was scurrilous. Little would’ve been gained by killing the seriously crippled Lon Nol.
Blaming genocide on us is a spurious attack and has injured our movement as much as pictures from Auschwitz and Dachau injured the Nazi German Revolution. Reporters have tarnished our reputation. This notion that we’ve exterminated thousands of people is altogether baseless.
Keo Yun’s execution took place as early as January 1975. We had to do something. We had a space problem. He came from Brother Number One’s home province of Kompong Thom, where he knew Deuch from Balaing College. It didn’t matter that they were old friends.
One had to be part god to predict what would happen next. With all of Phnom Penh deserted, Keo Yun welcomed our victory but to his surprise found himself arrested. Rather than our enemy, he considered himself a friend. To the best of my memory, Yun was arrested on April 18. Our suspicions naturally settled on people such as Keo Yun, capitalists who refused to join the revolution. Clearly, Keo Yun chose the wrong side. Our enemies only got what they deserved. I knew all about Keo Yun. Besides his confession, he wrote several letters to Deuch pleading his innocence. I’ll not take responsibility for his execution, even though I pulled the trigger. This enemy profited from American imperialists.
“That,” Deuch said, “is how we’ll begin the second revolution. We’ll require an oath of allegiance from all cadres. We’ll have them confess and then salvaged.” At the time of Keo Yun’s execution, I worked for Deuch.
Reporting directly to Son Sen, Deuch was given responsibility for bringing all traitors around. Shortly afterward, he converted Bethlehem Chapel into a prison and promptly ran out of room.
Mat Ly, a young student, is fortunate to have been released after interrogation. This remarkable event shows how Deuch has a heart. It impresses me greatly. Tuol Sleng remains a lasting monument to Deuch’s zeal. You might think he was a very cruel man. All I can say is that no one dared to annoy him.
While I eulogize Deuch, let us not overlook many other good people. Such people as Thea, or Meang, or Mat, or Hom, all under thirty. Or Kan, Thea, and Mat, all of whom carried guns. Thea, a twenty-four-year-old, was Pol Pot’s personal bodyguard and entered Phnom Penh with him. It saddens me that some of these people have turned out to be less than what they seemed.
Piss on these dealers of subterfuge! Shouldn’t they have been brought in line? They were no better than obvious traitor were. Everyone had to be checked out.
While dismissing these microbes, there remain many loyal people in our ranks. This leadership admits. Most Cambodians are genuinely for our revolutionary movement. We needn’t be ashamed.
If we are slow and weak, they will mistreat us. While there are those who’ll always complain about our cruelty, only those who’ve fulfill real tasks are in a position to agree or disagree with us. Disagreement with Angkar is certainly one reason we need to have Santebal. Criticism grows. Therefore we have to rule with an iron fist. Zhou Enlai noted the extraordinary leaps people will make when influenced by fear. The recent case of Thea is a striking example of this: he knew too much about Angkor, so much more than anyone else. I remember his arrest and how he looked well then. He liked me and recognized me.
After what happened to Thea, I realized no one was safe. He told me that he was tired of living in fear and planned to flee Cambodia. He claimed he wanted to work for the restoration of Prince Sihanouk. Actually, he planned a coup. Knowing me as a brother from the same province, he freely confessed to me.
“Is that really so,” I asked him, “but it won’t save you.” Having said that, I cut his throat. But the idea of cutting his throat seemed ludicrous to me.
Every night people were taken away. Only their clothes were brought back. We all worked for Angkar; or else we wouldn’t have been living in Phnom Penh. We knew how the Nokorbal worked. One night I couldn’t stand it any longer and pushed my way into my neighbor’s residence. I let him know how I’d been wrong, but now I had chosen the correct path. I purposely tried to be vague. I wasn’t sure yet which side he was on. Afterward, I knew I’d made another mistake. This realization unsettled me. I’d seen many people become fertilizer for coconut and banana trees. I told him, “I will not disappear. Why should I die?”
Thea was literate. After the country stabilized he would have been useful to the Democratic Revolution. He had mastered social deportment, military tactics, and politics. In spite of all of this, he had to be eliminated. The killing was regrettably necessary.
Randy Ford
