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TIME: Almanac of the 20th Century
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TIME, Almanac of the 20th Century.ISO
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1990
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90
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apr_jun
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0430030.000
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<text>
<title>
(Apr. 30, 1990) Hout Seng's Long March
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1990
Apr. 30, 1990 Vietnam 15 Years Later
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
VIETNAM, Page 29
Hout Seng's Long March
</hdr>
<body>
<p> The first time Hout Seng saw the Khmer Rouge up close, they
were running past his ground-floor apartment on the southern
outskirts of Phnom Penh. They wore black pajamas and sandals
made of tires, and had branches tied to their backs as
camouflage. All carried AK-47s. It was the morning of April 17,
1975. After five years of war, the Communist rebels were on the
brink of victory. As the government's remaining defenses
collapsed, more and more guerrillas poured past Seng's
residence into the capital. By midafternoon the war was over,
and people were celebrating in the streets.
</p>
<p> For thousands, that celebration may have been the last happy
moment of their lives. For millions, including Seng and his
family, it marked the beginning of a nightmare of death and
suffering. Before nightfall on that first day, the Khmer Rouge
were rounding up "traitors" (those who had served in the
previous government) and "collaborators" (professionals, people
who spoke foreign languages, teachers and the like). Most were
summarily executed or tortured to death. By the next morning,
the Communist government had begun the complete evacuation of
the cities, which Cambodia's new rulers regarded as cesspools
of bourgeois corruption. Nearly all Cambodians--men, women
and children--would be herded into slave-labor communes.
</p>
<p> Seng, a driver for the TIME correspondents who covered the
Cambodian war, soon grasped the dimension of the crisis. The
day before the final assault on the capital, with rockets
landing less than a block from his apartment, Seng and his
stroke-crippled wife asked a relative to take their two boys
and two girls to a nearby hospital, thinking they might be
safer there. The boys, Neang, 14, and Aun, 6, returned home
later that afternoon as the rocket attacks subsided. But the
two frightened daughters, Seng Ly, 9, and Theary, 12, stayed
put. When their father went to pick them up two days later,
they were gone, swept up in the first stage of the forced
evacuation.
</p>
<p> Soon, he and the remainder of the family were part of the
mass exodus. Carrying only a little rice and some blankets,
they joined thousands of others on foot or bicycle heading
south along the Basak River. No one knew where they were
marching or why. The troops who rounded them up said only that
they would not be gone long from Phnom Penh. At night they
slept beside the road. After a few days, the flip-flops Seng
and his family were wearing disintegrated, and they had no
choice but to go barefoot on the road's blistering macadam.
Frequently, Seng would ask if anyone had seen his missing
daughters. No one had.
</p>
<p> About 35 miles south of Phnom Penh, the great throng ground
to a temporary and unexplained halt, like a train whose engine
had broken down. For several months, the Khmer Rouge did not
seem to know what to do next. Some of the evacuees grew ill and
died. Others wandered away to unknown fates. Most were assigned
to villages where they worked in return for food rations.
</p>
<p> Eventually, Seng and his family were sent to a
rice-producing commune in the Kampong Cham area of eastern
Cambodia. There, father and sons labored twelve hours a day and
more in the paddies, although Seng's wife was too weak to work.
At that, they were lucky: in the same commune, perhaps a third
of the 3,000 workers died of disease, starvation and overwork,
or were executed by their Khmer Rouge overlords.
</p>
<p> After the Vietnamese army ousted the Pol Pot regime in
January 1979, Seng gathered up his family. He joined with the
family of a recently widowed woman named Ol Sam, whom he would
later marry, plus the orphaned daughter of a mutual friend, and
set out to escape from Cambodia. Largely on foot, with
occasional hitched rides on oxcarts and trucks, the group made
its way to the northwest, a distance of some 250 miles. Along
the way, Seng's wife died. Finally, in May--more than four
years after he got his first close look at a Khmer Rouge
guerrilla--Seng and his ragtag, nearly starved company of
survivors crossed into Thailand. Today they live in the
Washington, D.C., area, where Seng is a successful taxi driver.
</p>
<p> His family's saga does not end there. Not long ago, Seng
received news from Cambodia about his daughters: in 1975 they
had been sent to a work camp in the western province of
Battambang and assigned to dig irrigation ditches. Seng Ly died
of malaria and malnutrition. She was ten years old. But Theary
somehow survived. Married and the mother of three small
children, she was reunited last month in Phnom Penh with her
brother Neang. There were tears at the reunion--and many
overdue smiles.
</p>
<p>By Stanley W. Cloud/Phnom Penh.
</p>
</body>
</article>
</text>