The Young Captive of the Pathet Lao

 

V

 

How Camp Life Evolved

 

Our lives in the camp were totally cut off from the rest of the world. No commercial airliners flew in the skies above Phong-Saly; no one penetrated this region.

 

We were told we could send letters to our immediate family with special permission from the authorities, but only under certain conditions:

— the text could be no longer than four or five lines

— it had to adhere to the following structure: “Dear brother, sister, father, mother husband, wife . . . I am well, do not worry. After my reeducation, I will return to contribute to the country’s progress.” Or: “Can you please send me medication, cigarettes, warm clothes, a blanket, soap, sugar, salt, etc.”

 

During the evening assemblies, the Pathet Lao starting spouting new political concepts; our presence in the camp was justified ad nauseam: “The Party and the State (the new institution) did not want to bring you here, it’s your own fault that you are here . . . You must stay calm, adhere to our laws and believe in the actions conducted by the Party and the State.”

 

In addition:

“You must acquire new ideas. When you become progressive, you will do this . . . you will understand that . . . you will participate in the peoples’ revolution.”

 

Along with being forced to listen to the official discourse, everything we said was scrutinized more carefully, even requests to the guards when we needed something. The tiniest deviation from proscribed behavior was judged “anti-Party, anti-State.”

 

The group leaders and their assistants had to prove that they were the eyes and ears of the Ai-nong (young cadres, many still school aged), who frequently tested our obedience by provoking us. For example, the Ai-nong would say, “We didn't force you to come here, it's your own fault you are here.”

 

One day during a seminar, Mr. Pho could not contain his anger any longer and revolted; he dared to refute the Ai-nong’s accusations. His retribution was to be bound in chains in the isolation hut on the hill for two years. He did not have the fortitude to endure this torture and tried to escape. The Pathet Lao captured and shot him immediately, then dragged him from the hill down into the camp and left his corpse to decay right under our noses, his intestines spilling out of his stomach covered with filth. The spectacle of his decomposing body horrified us; we could only pray that his soul had finally been released from this living hell.

 

Other prisoners were also sent to the isolation hut, their punishment often based on the scantiest rumor that they had expressed a desire to escape.

Little by little, disease started to spread among the prison population. First, malaria afflicted the older prisoners; they vomited frequently and had trouble moving about. The bitterly cold climate was trying; we were not allowed to light fires for warmth despite the abundance of firewood that surrounded us.

 

One way the authorities tested the reform of our attitudes was by subjecting us to progressively cruel abuse. One day they added bran to our sticky rice, the next they cooked it with too much water, the next day, it was burned. It was imperative that we not react. Sometimes they cooked the leaves of the “phousi” tree instead of vegetables, which gave many of us violent stomach aches. Other times they prepared a soup base with the herb totan (the herb of the revolution) which grew in abundance in the humid environment of Phong-Saly. This herb causes nausea and head aches.

 

One morning, the guards realized that there had been another escape attempt. A single prisoner had taken a chance and fled. During the assembly, the escapee’s cabin mate was forced to identify himself and come forward out of the line. He was accused of not sounding the alarm, his ankles were chained, his wrists handcuffed, and he was led to the torture hut.

 

The fugitive was caught right away. His corpse was brought to camp and left where we assembled for the next two days. We were lectured about how these escape attempts were hindering our progress and were asked to express our opinions about them. No one dared to voice their feelings of sympathy or their desire to revolt.

 

As our rations continued to dwindle, we were told that we had to share the fate of the people, who also were lacking food. Meat disappeared. Once a month we received a tiny piece of pork or beef. Other days we had nothing but vegetable broth with a small amount of salt and, in principle, 250 grams of rice. The reality was a much more meager amount. Many of us developed swellings in our limbs as a result of a deprivation of salt. Deaths from hunger and lack of medication multiplied. The population in the little cemetery increased day by day. Every six months we received a “special ration,” that consisted of a cup of sugar, a bar of soap (which, alas, was used up much too fast), a blue outfit that was brightened up by a yellow square in the middle of the back. (We interpreted this fashion statement as a ruse to turn us into easy targets). The lack of hygiene, underwear and a means to wash ourselves resulted in the proliferation of all kinds of skin diseases (hives, scabies, etc.). The smokers had to resort to smoking dried elephant ear herb once they consumed the three cigarettes they were granted. They prolonged the pleasure of real cigarettes by smoking the butts in a shared water pipe.

 

Waiting

As the months went by, many of the surrounding hills were deforested by our work: we had to cut down trees, saw wood, and build cabins. It was the guards’ whim that the female prisoners assume the task of weeding.

One day, in the midst of this drudgery, I found some burned papers mixed in with the garbage. They were our letters—that had never left the camp. After having read them, the soldiers destroyed them.

 

We also had to collect water to irrigate the vegetable gardens, a tiresome task because we had to repeatedly climb down a steep slope in our bare feet, then back up again with the filled buckets. The vegetables were abundant thanks to the local climate. The yield per prisoner must have been about five hundred kilos each season. Everything had to be weighed and given to the authorities. We were strictly forbidden to eat anything that we harvested.

 

Students and Foreign Prisoners

In addition to the Laotians in our camp, there were nine Thai, twenty Vietnamese and one Frenchman.

One day during one of the assemblies, an officer declared, “The students and foreigners, just like the Laotians, must follow camp regulations. They must transform their ideologies to match those of the regime. They eat the rice of the people, the party and the State, and breathe Laotian air, so they must adapt themselves to the new regime, to “Socialism.”

 

In mid-April of 1976, before the festival of Koutsongkane, the prisoners received orders to build a lot of new cabins in our camp in a very short time. At first, we thought they were for us since no one gave us any explanation for the rush. One afternoon, about a week later, a helicopter flew over our camp. An hour later a military truck arrived with five manacled young men. Despite the rules, word got around camp and we learned from the new prisoners that there were significant political upheavals in Luang Prabang, the Royal Capital of Laos. These young men, from ages twenty to twenty-seven, were from the Normal School and included MM. Houm Phéng, Houm Phan, Sone, Wad, and Houm Phèng. They had organized a demonstration calling for the restoration of student scholarships. They were arrested, along with numerous other male and female students, some of whom were released and some imprisoned.

 

A little while later more students arrived at our camp by plane, as did several more, small groups in the following weeks.

One day I saw a young man get out of a truck with his legs encumbered by iron rings that encircled his ankles; the rings were attached by a metal bar. He hopped forward with difficulty. I learned that his name was Sichan and that he also was from the Normal School.

About thirty students from Luang Prabang were imprisoned to be reeducated. They were accused of harboring anti-Party sentiments and opposing the Lao Peoples’ Revolution.

 

There was a reorganization after their arrival. New leaders and deputies were chosen from among the students to head teams, each with about a dozen members. They shared the camp routine with us. None had had time to collect civilian clothes when they were arrested and still wore their uniforms from the Normal School.

 

These students had no idea how long they would be staying at Camp Phong-Saly; they didn’t even know where they were geographically, nor did their families have any idea where they were. Most of them were school-aged, very young. In the beginning, they demanded to know why they had been arrested and protested their imprisonment. It did not take long for them to acknowledge that a great abyss separated their conception of democracy and the reality of their situation. Like the rest of us, they had to endure the ordeal of brain washing by the Pathet Lao.

 

Illnesses in the Camp

Medical care in the camp was ineffective. There were neither competent doctors nor medications to counter the variety of ailments that afflicted the prisoners. We didn’t even have vitamins or basic analgesics at our disposal to treat stomach aches or other kinds of pain. We were malnourished and our rations were diminishing. Manioc, corn, and sweet potatoes were mixed with rice and the portions of rice decreased everyday. No one had the strength to combat disease. Female prisoners were slow to recover; male prisoners got progressively weaker. Malaria spread rampantly. Many of us suffered from nausea and had great difficulty walking. When it was time to move from one place to another, the healthier prisoners carried the disabled ones on their backs. The lack of medication resulted in more deaths. We felt horrible about our inability to relieve the suffering of those afflicted with disease. We had to stand in line to receive medical care. Priority was given to those who were more gravely ill. Patients in critical condition stayed in the infirmary, which only had two beds. One prisoner, named Maha Southi was authorized to prepare traditional remedies, and so was allowed to leave camp to look for medicinal plants. He was also allowed to live in the infirmary to take care of the patients.

 

Hunger

As my years of detention progressed, I became more and more proficient at discerning prisoners who had been transformed by persistent hunger. Our food consumption was limited to meager rations. Though we were forbidden from gleaning fruit that had fallen from trees in the forest, a few prisoners couldn’t resist picking herbs or leaves on the way to their daily work assignments. They picked and hid edible buds when the guards weren’t looking. For many of us, hunger superseded honor. Some stole corn, tender manioc leaves or vegetables that they ate raw and unwashed—risking either stomach aches, severe punishment or both. They could not master hunger. Every grain of salt, every grain of rice that we tasted was not only precious because it yielded flavor and something to eat, but also because it affirmed that we were still alive.

 

These scant herbs, buds and leaves seemed delicious to us. Insects, frogs, mice and rats had become delicacies of choice. Now and then we were served dog meat, which the practicing Buddhists among us refused to eat no matter how hungry they were. They abstained and ate only vegetables. According to Buddha, dog is one of ten meats that one is not supposed to consume. Every now and then these servings of dog were accompanied with the following commentary from the Pathet Lao: “Eating dog meat will make you progressive.”

 

The Outside World

We had asked for permission to write to our families and we had written and written. Our efforts were in vain; no responses ever arrived. We were isolated from the outside world, without newspapers and of course without radios. All we could see were walls and hedges. When night fell, we slept.

 

Now and then a military plane flew over the camp giving us a glimmer of hope, as though we were about to receive some news, some relief from our onerous lives. We were so weak that working caused physical pain. Hunger seemed to be gaining ground. The lack of clothes and feminine supplies was harder to bear as time went on.

 

The fact that we were not allowed to communicate among ourselves about anything other than revolutionary ideas made each of us feel trapped and isolated. We all waited in vain for some word from the outside or from loved ones. Those with family responsibilities wondered how their relatives could survive in the current state of revolution in Laos. Who was taking care of the elderly? of the children? of the rice fields? etc.? Anxiety was undermining us.

 

In Memory of our Friend Phaï, Who Died for Nothing

Work proceeded. Everyone had to follow orders. One day, while we were clearing a nearby forest, a tragedy unfolded for one of our fellow prisoners, M. Phaï. The poor man was crushed by a falling tree and gravely wounded. He was left to suffer without care in the infirmary. By the end of the day Death had finished its work. This loss upset us deeply. His funeral proceeded with all the fanfare of a routine exercise, treated in the same desultory manner as his accident and death. His corpse was wrapped in a sheet of black plastic provided by the camp authorities. His hands and feet were tied to a log cut from a chestnut tree and three or four prisoners carried him to a place in the forest that served as a cemetery, not too far from camp. No goodbye, no ceremony, no bereavement. For Laotians, this kind of neglect would have been inconceivable in ordinary times. Many years later, I still ask myself about the distribution of plastic sheeting to such a remote location in Laos. The authorities must have anticipated frequent deaths in the camps, since they had organized the distribution of these ignoble shrouds.

 

How many decades will have to pass before the truth about what really went on in Laos after 1975 will be acknowledged?

 

. . .

 

 

 

VI

 

Ideology Gives Way to Brutality

 

Time passed. Chestnuts fell in the forests close to camp. We gathered them surreptitiously, risking severe punishment from the soldiers who guarded us nonstop. Gleaning food was absolutely forbidden. More and more prisoners were weakened by the lack of nutritious food, more and more succumbed to fevers and because of the lack of hygiene, more succumbed to skin diseases. The lack of information about our country, the lack of basic freedoms, and the desperate need for hope encouraged more prisoners to risk their lives and try to escape.

 

After the first escape attempts, which had resulted in two executions and two prisoners being enchained in the punishment hut indefinitely, acts of brutality became more rampant. Soldiers wielded savage cruelty with increased fervor. I can testify to having witnessed numerous scenes where we were desperate help, to intercede in some way, but were prohibited. Fugitives were tied to posts and beaten to death, struck on the head and top of the body with metal pipes. The executions were not the soldiers’ ideas; they were ordered by camp leaders who were trying to demonstrate their supreme control over us. This slaughter could be brief or prolonged. It would not stop until the victim’s cervical vertebrae broke and his head either dropped down to his shoulder or flipped back. It was a terrifying, sadistic scene of butchery accompanied by agonized screams of pain and anguish, screams that echoed back to us through the valley. Petrified with horror and fear, we were forced to watch these murders from a short distance away and under close surveillance by the guards until they ordered us to gather around the bloody corpse. We were forced to look at the ghastly spectacle of the victim’s crushed skull and swollen face. Then, according to the protocols of reeducation, the camp leaders demanded that we express our opinions about the punishment inflicted on these fugitives. For our own safety, we had to stay cool, respond with sangfroid and not express the slightest bit of sympathy. Finally, the bodies were carried to the cemetery. Given my young age at the time, these executions left me with an indelible memory. Even fifteen years later, the simple act of evoking them plunges me into a profound state of anxiety. I will never forget the faces of our torturers, those whose job it was to indoctrinate us with an ideology that would put our country on the path to “well being and happiness.”

 

I also bore witness to an event that concerned me personally and will haunt me till the end of my days. At Samkhé prison, I caught sight of my cousin, Ith. We were related on my mother’s side. He was already about thirty years old. A little while after I arrived at the camp, I discovered that he too had been transferred there. He recognized me one day and, though it was forbidden for men and women to communicate, he succeeded in contacting me several times. We agreed never to reveal our family bond to avoid exacerbating our situation.

 

No matter how dire the circumstances, humans are inclined to keep their senses of humor and curiosity, so naturally our compatriots suspected we were lovers and teased us about our affection for each other. The jokes they shared drew the attention of the guards, who also joined in the fun, though they never caught us in the act thanks to all the ingenious ways Ith came up with for us to communicate.

 

One day I heard a rumor that made my blood run cold. Word was that Ith had escaped, and in fact I never saw him again. Sometime later, just after a patrol of soldiers returned to camp, one of the leaders came toward our hut and right up to me. He showed me some sort of package wrapped in fabric, and said, “I have a present for you,” as he removed the cloth and handed me two human ears, still covered in fresh blood. I was horrified to recognize that these were my cousin Ith’s ears. The captain cackled in his sinister manner and stomped off. That evening, the same sadistic captain had impaled the two ears on his baton and pointing it at a group of prisoners he warned, “This is an example; we spare no one. You will no longer be executed with bullets.”

I never learned how my cousin suffered during his execution. or what sort of torture he had to endure. We had no other option than to pray for his soul, to be thankful that he was now far away from suffering, in eternal peace. This tragedy plunged me into an even deeper depression. It was the cause of yet another both mysterious and miserable event that I will return to later. To this day, so many years later, I still feel something akin to an electric shock when I am shopping for food and pass by a butcher’s window display.