A man of Generations-They persuaded 17 April people to leave for Battambang-Part 7

The group leader walked around door-to-door at 6pm and shouted the names, when there was a commune or village meeting in the morning or in the evening. I answered yes. If I did not do yes, he called me again to make sure I was heard.

This morning, the commune meeting was held at Wat Sithor (Sithor Pagoda). There, I never knew whether it was Monday or Sunday, nothing at all. Just wake up early morning, work, eat and sleep. No political talk between friends. No gathering without permission. Eat what was allowed. No brush, no toothpaste.

In the large open place of the pagoda, under the shade of mongo trees, people sat on the ground, facing a black table for the speaker, where nothing was on it. It was like freedom and a holiday from work. We came from different villages of Sithor Commune. I came a bit late and found place behind the rows to sit next to my friends from Phnom Penh. They chatted silently. All looked black like a big flock of crows in the sky.

A small group of village leaders, assistants and especially the commune leader in black clean uniform with scarves round their necks, approaching the table. Villagers applauded. No chair to sit on. Others sat on the ground and the commune leader started his speech. He was young around 28 years old. He made a good smile to the participants. He greeted them very gently. Then he talked his plan. He told the audience: “Here we cannot survive properly, because it is too populated in our commune. I propose that Battambang is the best province with high level of rice production. You can eat three times a day like in the past. The trains were prepared to send you to Battambang. Who volunteers to leave here?.” I was so happy to raise my hand to go and other people who were new people too, in the hope that our life would be improved. No one of my family members raised their hands, only me. The meeting was ended.

Not waste the time, in the evening, my mother-in-law rushed to the village leader and implored him not to send my wife and me away. She talked and cried out in order to persuade him. At last, he told my mother that: “In the morning, the crowd of villagers leave their home, let your children close the door and do not any movement.” My mother was so happy and told us as she was told.

At dawn, a long queue of displaced people moved slowly with carts, filled with belongings. My wife and me woke up and looked through the holes of the leave wall. We kept silent. We followed the movement until the end of the queue.

Later, they told me that those who left were all killed on the way to Battambang.

(Note: 17 April people or new people called for people who came after Pol Pot took power)