First They Killed My Father

First They Killed My Father Plot Summary

Introduction

In April 1975, as Khmer Rouge soldiers in black uniforms flooded the streets of Phnom Penh, five-year-old Loung Ung's world shattered forever. Within hours, she and her family joined millions of Cambodians forced from their homes at gunpoint, beginning a four-year nightmare under one of history's most brutal regimes. What makes Loung's story extraordinary isn't merely her survival against impossible odds—losing parents, siblings, and her childhood to genocide—but her remarkable transformation from traumatized refugee to powerful human rights advocate. Her journey from the killing fields of Cambodia to international activism offers a profound testament to human resilience in the face of unimaginable horror. Through Loung's eyes, we witness both humanity's darkest capacity for cruelty and its astonishing potential for healing and renewal. Her experiences illuminate the devastating impact of war on children, the complex psychology of survival, and the possibility of rebuilding a meaningful life after profound trauma. More than a chronicle of suffering, her story reveals how personal tragedy can be transformed into a force for global change, as she channeled her painful past into advocacy for landmine victims, refugees, and genocide survivors worldwide. In an era where mass displacement and political violence continue to shape our world, Loung's journey offers essential insights into both human suffering and our capacity to overcome it.

Chapter 1: Childhood Shattered: The Fall of Phnom Penh

Before April 1975, Loung Ung enjoyed a privileged childhood in Cambodia's vibrant capital city. As the daughter of a high-ranking military police officer in the Lon Nol government, she lived in a spacious apartment with modern amenities that most Cambodians could only dream of. Her father, of Chinese-Cambodian descent, was well-educated and emphasized learning to his seven children. The family owned two cars, employed a maid, and Loung attended school six days a week, studying in French, Chinese, and Khmer. At five years old, her days were filled with playing hopscotch with neighborhood friends, enjoying ice cream from street vendors, and being doted on by her parents and older siblings. This comfortable existence vanished on April 17, 1975, when Khmer Rouge forces seized control of Phnom Penh. Black-uniformed teenage soldiers flooded the streets, ordering all residents to evacuate immediately. The revolutionaries claimed American bombing was imminent and people would be allowed to return in three days. This was the first of countless lies. Within hours, Loung's family joined two million others forced from their homes at gunpoint, carrying only what they could manage on their backs. The city that had been Loung's entire world emptied overnight, transformed into a ghost town as the population streamed into the countryside. The family's evacuation journey exposed Loung to horrors beyond her comprehension. They traveled first by truck until fuel ran out, then continued on foot under the scorching April sun. Along clogged highways, Loung witnessed hospital patients pushed in their beds, elderly people abandoned when they couldn't continue walking, and summary executions of those who questioned Khmer Rouge orders. When she complained of hunger and fatigue, her father took her aside and revealed a painful truth: they would not be returning to Phnom Penh in three days. The war had ended, but something far worse had begun. At checkpoints along the evacuation route, Khmer Rouge soldiers separated people with connections to the former government. Loung's father, knowing his position made him a target, instructed the family to claim they were poor farmers if questioned. This deception became their first line of defense against the regime's "cleansing" campaign targeting intellectuals, officials, and professionals. The family discarded anything that might reveal their educated background—books, photographs, even certain clothes. For Loung, this marked her first lesson in survival: the truth could be deadly. After weeks of travel, the family found temporary shelter with relatives in a rural village. However, their respite proved brief as the Khmer Rouge's reach extended everywhere. They were soon relocated to a labor camp called Ro Leap, where they lived in a small hut with a dirt floor. Food rations consisted mainly of watery rice porridge, barely enough to sustain them through long days of forced labor. The stark contrast between her previous life and this new reality bewildered young Loung, who struggled to understand why soldiers who claimed to liberate Cambodia were causing such suffering. In Ro Leap, Loung witnessed the first signs of the systematic brutality that would define the next four years. Public executions became commonplace, and anyone suspected of connections to the former government disappeared. She observed how her father's demeanor changed from confident to constantly vigilant. He spoke in whispers and taught his children to be invisible to avoid drawing attention. Despite these precautions, the family's relatively light skin and educated mannerisms made them targets of suspicion among revolutionary cadres who valued peasant backgrounds and manual labor skills. For Loung, childhood innocence rapidly gave way to a harsh education in fear, hunger, and the fragility of human life.

Chapter 2: Enduring the Killing Fields: Life Under Khmer Rouge

Life under the Khmer Rouge regime subjected Loung and her family to a calculated system of dehumanization. The revolutionary government abolished money, private property, religion, and traditional family structures in their quest to create an agrarian utopia they called "Year Zero." Daily existence in the labor camp revolved around grueling work schedules that began before dawn and continued until nightfall. Even children as young as Loung were expected to contribute through tasks like collecting cow dung for fertilizer or gathering firewood. The physical toll was immense—malnutrition caused their bodies to swell while their muscles wasted away, and diseases spread rapidly through the unsanitary conditions. Food became the central obsession of existence. The regime provided minimal rations, typically a thin gruel with few rice grains, deliberately keeping the population weak and dependent. Loung recalled the constant, gnawing hunger that drove her to desperate measures. She caught and ate insects, stole food when possible, and even consumed potentially poisonous plants. One particularly haunting memory involved stealing food from her youngest sister Geak's portion—an act that later haunted her with guilt. The family tried to supplement their meager rations by foraging, but this too carried risks as unauthorized food gathering was punishable by severe beatings or death. The psychological warfare waged by the Khmer Rouge proved equally devastating. Children were indoctrinated through nightly political meetings where they were taught to pledge allegiance to "Angkar" (the Organization) above all else, including their parents. Loung witnessed how the regime deliberately turned children against adults, encouraging them to report any counter-revolutionary behaviors or statements. Trust became a luxury few could afford. Families spoke in whispers, if at all, about their true thoughts. Loung's father, once outspoken and proud, became silent and watchful, knowing that a careless word could doom them all. Disease ran rampant through the camps with virtually no medical care available. When Loung's sister Keav fell ill with dysentery, she was sent to a makeshift hospital that was little more than a death ward. The family later learned she had died alone, surrounded by strangers, her body likely discarded in a mass grave. This pattern repeated throughout Cambodia as an estimated two million people—nearly a quarter of the population—perished from execution, starvation, disease, and overwork during the Khmer Rouge's four-year reign. The regime's particular cruelty toward those with education or connections to the former government kept Loung's family in constant fear. They maintained their cover story as poor farmers, but their relatively light skin and city mannerisms made them targets of suspicion. Loung's father taught his children to lie about their background and to avoid displaying any signs of education or refinement. Despite these precautions, informants were everywhere, and the family lived knowing that discovery could come at any moment. Throughout this period, Loung developed survival mechanisms that belied her young age. She learned to suppress emotions that might be perceived as weakness, to steal food without being caught, and to navigate the complex social hierarchy of the camp. Her fierce determination and quick thinking repeatedly saved her from dangerous situations. Even as a child, she recognized that adaptation was necessary for survival, yet she maintained an internal resistance to the regime's attempts to break her spirit. This resilience would become her defining characteristic as conditions continued to deteriorate and the family faced its greatest challenges.

Chapter 3: Child Soldier: Transformation Through Trauma

In early 1977, the Khmer Rouge's paranoia intensified, leading to more purges and a strategic decision to separate families. Loung's mother, fearing the family would be executed together, made the heartbreaking choice to split up her children. At just seven years old, Loung was sent to a training camp for child soldiers, while her siblings were dispersed to different labor camps. This separation marked a profound turning point in her young life, forcing her to navigate the brutal world of the Khmer Rouge entirely on her own. The child soldier camp operated on principles of indoctrination and dehumanization. Daily routines included intense physical training, weapons practice, and political education sessions designed to erase family loyalties and replace them with fanatical devotion to the Angkar. Young children were taught to handle knives, spears, and eventually guns. The camp supervisors, known as "Met Bong," deliberately cultivated hatred toward enemies of the revolution, particularly the Vietnamese, who were dehumanized in propaganda sessions. Loung, despite her young age, recognized the manipulation but participated to avoid punishment or death. The transformation from child to soldier involved systematic psychological conditioning. Nightly indoctrination sessions featured graphic descriptions of violence against enemies, desensitizing the children to brutality. They were taught to view violence as necessary and righteous when directed at the regime's enemies. Loung recalled how the children were encouraged to practice combat moves on effigies representing "enemies of the revolution." Through this process, the Khmer Rouge attempted to create a generation of unquestioning, ruthless fighters loyal only to Pol Pot and the revolutionary cause. Despite the intense brainwashing attempts, Loung maintained a private, internal resistance. While outwardly conforming to avoid suspicion, she harbored intense hatred for the Khmer Rouge, particularly after learning of her father's execution. This duality—the compliant child soldier versus the inwardly defiant daughter—created tremendous psychological strain. At night, Loung suffered from vivid nightmares in which she alternated between being hunted and becoming the hunter. These dreams reflected her internal struggle to maintain her humanity while adapting to survive in an inhuman system. The physical conditions at the camp were deplorable. Children slept crowded together on wooden platforms, suffered from malnutrition and various diseases, and were punished severely for any perceived weakness. Lice, skin infections, and dysentery were common. The work was dangerous—Loung described working in rice paddies infested with leeches and poisonous snakes, with no medical care available for injuries or illness. The children were deliberately kept hungry, with food rations contingent on work performance and political compliance. Throughout this period, Loung demonstrated remarkable adaptability and will to survive. She learned to navigate the camp's social hierarchy, avoiding the attention of cruel supervisors while finding small ways to maintain her sense of self. She excelled at the physical training, which provided some protection from abuse. When selected for the camp's dance troupe that performed revolutionary propaganda, she embraced the opportunity for its practical benefits—slightly better food and occasional respite from harder labor. This pragmatic approach to survival, coupled with her fierce internal determination to outlive her oppressors, enabled her to endure conditions that claimed many other children's lives.

Chapter 4: Family Torn Apart: Loss and Separation

The systematic destruction of family bonds was central to the Khmer Rouge's strategy for controlling the population. For Loung, this process began with her sister Keav's death from dysentery in a teen work camp, but the most devastating blow came in late 1976 when soldiers arrived to take her father away. Though they claimed he was needed to help move an ox cart, the family recognized the grim reality—he had been identified as a former government official. Before leaving, he embraced each child, his face rigid with the effort to appear calm. He told Kim, the eldest son at home, to take care of the family. Loung watched her beloved father walk away, never to return. Though the soldiers promised he would be back the next day, he became one of the millions who disappeared under the Khmer Rouge regime. In the aftermath of her father's disappearance, Loung experienced her first profound transformation. The once-spirited child became withdrawn and hypervigilant, constantly scanning for threats. She developed an intense hatred for the Khmer Rouge that would fuel her survival instinct in the years ahead. At night, she fantasized about elaborate revenge scenarios against those who had taken her father. This rage, though potentially destructive, provided a psychological shield against despair. It gave her a reason to survive when giving up might have seemed easier. By early 1977, Loung's mother recognized that the family's continued association put them all at risk. In a heart-wrenching decision that demonstrated both maternal love and strategic thinking, she separated her remaining children. "If we stay together, we will die together," she explained. "But if they cannot find us, they cannot kill us." She instructed each child to claim they were orphans and never reveal their true identities. This separation was traumatic for seven-year-old Loung, who felt abandoned despite understanding her mother's reasoning. As she walked away from the village, her anger at her mother temporarily overshadowed her sadness—a psychological defense mechanism that made the separation bearable. Loung and her sister Chou initially traveled together, disobeying their mother's instructions to separate completely. They reached a children's work camp where they claimed to be orphans. Even there, they faced discrimination for their lighter skin, which revealed their Chinese-Cambodian heritage. After several months, the sisters were separated when Loung was selected for transfer to a child soldier training camp. This parting was another emotional blow, but Loung had learned to suppress her feelings to survive. She ran away without looking back, though her heart ached for the comfort of her sister's presence. In late 1977, during a rare visit to her mother and youngest sister Geak in their village, Loung sensed something was terribly wrong. Her mother appeared gaunt and defeated, while four-year-old Geak was severely malnourished, her growth stunted by years of starvation. This would be their final meeting. Weeks later, Loung learned that her mother and little sister had been taken away by Khmer Rouge soldiers—almost certainly to execution. The psychological impact of this loss was devastating. For three days, Loung had no memory of her actions or whereabouts, experiencing what modern psychologists would identify as a dissociative episode. The fragmentation of Loung's family represented the broader Cambodian tragedy under the Khmer Rouge—the deliberate destruction of social bonds to create isolated individuals dependent solely on the state. By the end of 1977, the once-close family of nine had been reduced to scattered survivors, each unaware if the others were alive or dead. This separation and uncertainty created a particular form of trauma that would affect Loung long after the regime's fall. Even decades later, she described the persistent fear that those she loved could be taken away without warning—a psychological legacy of having her family systematically destroyed before her eyes.

Chapter 5: Escape to Freedom: The Journey to Thailand

In January 1979, the sound of distant artillery signaled a dramatic shift in Cambodia's political landscape. Vietnamese forces had launched a full-scale invasion to overthrow the Khmer Rouge regime. For Loung, this military intervention brought both chaos and opportunity. As rockets fell near her camp, she fled amid the confusion, determined to find her surviving siblings. Against tremendous odds, she reunited with her brother Kim and sister Chou in the ensuing mass exodus. Together, they navigated a landscape of danger—dodging bullets, avoiding landmines, and evading Khmer Rouge soldiers who continued to terrorize civilians as they retreated. The siblings initially survived by scavenging abandoned villages for food and supplies. They witnessed horrific scenes—mutilated bodies, mass graves, and villages reduced to ash. Despite being children (Loung was nine, Chou eleven, and Kim fourteen), they demonstrated remarkable resourcefulness. Kim assumed the role of family protector, making difficult decisions about their movements and resources. They eventually found temporary shelter with foster families who needed child laborers, enduring exploitation and abuse while keeping their family bond intact. A pivotal moment came when they discovered their oldest brothers, Meng and Khouy, had survived. This reunion at a refugee hospital marked a turning point—they were no longer alone in the world. The siblings made their way to their maternal village of Bat Deng, where they found extended family members who had also survived. There, they learned the full extent of their losses: their parents, two sisters, and numerous relatives had perished in the genocide. Despite the trauma, being surrounded by family provided a semblance of stability after years of chaos. In October 1979, Meng made a life-altering decision. With limited resources and uncertain prospects in post-war Cambodia, he determined that their best hope lay abroad. Using gold jewelry their mother had hidden before her death, he secured passage for himself, his wife Eang, and Loung to escape Cambodia. The plan was for them to establish themselves overseas, then bring the remaining siblings later. This meant another heart-wrenching separation for Loung, who had to leave Chou and Kim behind with promises of eventual reunion. The journey to freedom was perilous. Meng, Eang, and Loung traveled through Vietnam, where they lived for several months before securing passage on a refugee boat bound for Thailand. The overcrowded vessel carried nearly a hundred people across the Gulf of Thailand, battling storms, pirates, and the constant threat of capsizing. During the journey, Thai pirates boarded their boat and stole their remaining valuables, including a jade Buddha pendant that had belonged to Loung's father—her last tangible connection to him. Despite this loss, they reached the Lam Sing refugee camp in Thailand in February 1980. Life in the refugee camp presented new challenges and opportunities. For the first time in years, Loung experienced relative safety, regular meals, and the absence of imminent death threats. She received her first new dress since the Khmer Rouge takeover—a red-checkered garment that symbolized her transition toward a new life. After months in the camp, Meng secured sponsorship from a church group in Vermont, USA. In June 1980, ten-year-old Loung boarded a plane that would take her across the world, carrying the weight of her experiences and the hope for a future free from violence. As the aircraft lifted off, she wondered if her father's spirit could follow her across the ocean and whether she would ever see her homeland or remaining siblings again.

Chapter 6: Building a New Life in America

Arriving in Vermont in 1980, ten-year-old Loung faced the monumental task of adapting to American culture while carrying the invisible wounds of genocide. The contrast between her new environment and the world she had left behind was jarring. Simple aspects of American life bewildered her—indoor plumbing, supermarkets filled with food, people who smiled at strangers. Her sponsor family and the local community showed kindness, but they could not comprehend the depth of her trauma. When asked about her past, Loung learned to provide simplified answers that Americans could process without becoming uncomfortable. This created a dual existence—her external American persona versus her internal Cambodian identity still haunted by war. Language acquisition became Loung's first triumph and pathway to integration. Initially placed in special education classes due to her language barrier, she worked tirelessly to master English. Her determination reflected both practical necessity and psychological strategy—becoming fluent would allow her to control her own narrative and navigate her new world independently. Within a year, she had progressed to regular classes, demonstrating the same resilience that had kept her alive in Cambodia. Education, which had been denied to her under the Khmer Rouge, became her path to healing and empowerment. The psychological aftermath of trauma manifested in various ways throughout Loung's adolescence. Nightmares plagued her sleep, often featuring her lost family members or scenes of violence. Ordinary sounds—fireworks, car backfires, even thunder—could trigger panic attacks that transported her back to the war zone she had escaped. In school, she struggled with behavioral issues stemming from hypervigilance and difficulty trusting others. These symptoms, which would now be recognized as post-traumatic stress disorder, went largely undiagnosed and untreated in an era when childhood trauma was poorly understood. Loung's relationship with her brother Meng and his wife Eang, who became her surrogate parents, provided crucial stability. Though they too carried their own trauma, they created a home environment that honored their Cambodian heritage while encouraging American integration. They maintained Cambodian culinary traditions, celebrated cultural holidays, and spoke Khmer at home. This cultural continuity gave Loung an anchor to her identity while she navigated the complex process of acculturation. Meng also emphasized education as the path to security—a value their father had instilled before his death. As she entered adolescence, Loung struggled with her identity and the burden of her memories. While her American classmates worried about dating and fashion, she carried the knowledge of mass graves and starvation. She felt guilty for surviving when so many, including her parents and siblings, had perished. This survivor's guilt manifested in self-destructive behaviors during her teenage years, including anger issues and risky decisions. Yet beneath these struggles, her resilience remained unbroken. She excelled academically and began to find her voice through writing and public speaking about her experiences. Throughout her adjustment to American life, Loung maintained connections with her siblings in Cambodia through letters and occasional phone calls. These communications were lifelines to her past and reminders of her responsibility to succeed for those left behind. With Meng's support, she sent money to help her siblings and extended family in Cambodia. This transnational family bond provided purpose and perspective, reminding her that her individual journey was part of a larger family narrative of survival and renewal. In 1989, nearly a decade after arriving in America, Loung helped sponsor her brother Kim's immigration to the United States—a partial fulfillment of the promise to reunite their scattered family.

Chapter 7: Finding Voice: Becoming Cambodia's Advocate

The transformation from refugee to advocate began during Loung's college years, when she studied political science and international relations at Saint Michael's College in Vermont. Academic exploration of genocide, human rights, and Southeast Asian politics provided a framework for understanding her own experiences. She discovered that sharing her story not only helped process her trauma but could educate others about Cambodia's history. Her first public speaking engagements were tentative steps toward becoming a voice for her homeland, though they reopened emotional wounds she had long tried to suppress. In 1995, fifteen years after leaving Cambodia, Loung made a pivotal decision to return for a memorial ceremony honoring victims of the Khmer Rouge. This homecoming proved transformative. She reunited with her sister Chou and brother Khouy, who had remained in Cambodia, and confronted the physical landscapes of her trauma. Walking through killing fields where mass graves still yielded fragments of bone and clothing, she experienced both profound grief and a clarifying sense of purpose. She realized that while she had physically escaped Cambodia, her emotional and spiritual healing required reconnection with her roots. The visit revealed another horrifying legacy of the conflict—Cambodia's saturation with landmines. Nearly two decades after the Khmer Rouge's fall, civilians continued to lose limbs and lives to these hidden weapons. Witnessing children with missing limbs and farmers afraid to cultivate their fields ignited Loung's advocacy spirit. Upon returning to America, she joined the Vietnam Veterans of America Foundation and became a spokesperson for the International Campaign to Ban Landmines, which would later win the Nobel Peace Prize for its work. Her personal testimony about landmines' impact proved powerful in fundraising and awareness campaigns. Loung's advocacy expanded beyond landmines to encompass broader human rights issues. She testified before Congress, addressed the United Nations, and spoke at universities and community organizations worldwide. Her ability to translate personal experience into compelling testimony made her an effective advocate for policies addressing genocide prevention, refugee support, and post-conflict reconstruction. Rather than speaking only about Cambodia, she connected her country's tragedy to contemporary crises, emphasizing the universal human cost of political violence. Writing became another powerful channel for Loung's advocacy. After years of public speaking, she recognized that a written account of her experiences could reach audiences beyond her physical presence. The process of documenting her childhood memories was excruciating but ultimately liberating. By giving voice to her younger self—the child who had been silenced by terror—she reclaimed narrative control over her life story. Her memoir not only educated readers about Cambodia's genocide but challenged the notion that children somehow suffer less than adults during traumatic events. Through unflinching honesty about her experiences, Loung created a testament to both human suffering and resilience that resonated across cultural boundaries. As her public profile grew, Loung faced the challenge of balancing her roles as survivor, advocate, and private individual. The emotional toll of repeatedly sharing traumatic experiences required developing boundaries and self-care practices. She learned when to step back from public engagements to replenish her emotional resources. This balance became easier as she expanded her identity beyond "genocide survivor" to encompass other aspects of herself—writer, advocate, friend, family member, and eventually, spouse. This multifaceted identity allowed her to honor her past without being defined solely by its traumas.

Summary

Loung Ung's extraordinary journey embodies the indomitable human spirit's capacity to survive unimaginable horror and transform suffering into purpose. From a five-year-old child forced from her comfortable Phnom Penh home into the killing fields of Cambodia, through her experiences as a child soldier, and ultimately to her emergence as an internationally recognized human rights advocate, her life demonstrates how resilience can flourish even in the darkest circumstances. What distinguishes Loung's story is not merely survival against overwhelming odds, but her ability to channel her traumatic experiences into advocacy that has improved countless lives. Her work against landmines, for refugee rights, and in educating the world about genocide has created ripples of positive change extending far beyond her personal healing. Loung's journey offers profound insights for anyone facing adversity or seeking to understand trauma's impact. She teaches us that healing is not about forgetting the past but integrating it into a meaningful present. Her example shows how channeling pain into purpose can transform personal tragedy into social good. Perhaps most importantly, she demonstrates that even after experiencing humanity at its worst, it remains possible to reclaim trust, joy, and connection. For those interested in resilience, human rights, or post-conflict recovery, Loung's story provides both inspiration and practical wisdom. Her life stands as testimony that even after the most devastating losses, it is possible not just to survive but to create a life of meaning, purpose, and even joy—a message of hope for survivors everywhere.

About Author

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Loung Ung

Loung Ung is a Cambodian-American human-rights activist, lecturer and national spokesperson for the Campaign for a Landmine-Free World from 1997 to 2003. She has served in the same capacity for the International Campaign to Ban Landmines, which is affiliated with the Vietnam Veterans of America Foundation.Born in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, Ung was the sixth of seven children and the third of four girls to Seng Im Ung and Ay Choung Ung. At the age of 10, she escaped from Cambodia as a survivor of what became known as "the Killing Fields" during the reign of Pol Pot's Khmer Rouge regime. After being resettled as a refugee to United States, she eventually wrote two books which related to her life experiences from 1975 through 2003.

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