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‘For a lot of us, we bury it deep down': In Lowell, horror remains raw 50 years after Cambodian genocide

The photo of Theam and her family is on display on the 5th floor of an old mill building overlooking a canal in Lowell. It's part of an exhibit commemorating the 50th anniversary of the fall of Phnom Penh, when the Khmer Rouge took over the Cambodian capital and seized power in the country, leading to a period of death and exodus. Now, decades later, the exhibit offers an opportunity to recall the horror of the genocide and recognize the resiliency of those who survived. The Khmer Rouge's radical policies led to the deaths of an synonymous with murderous despots. Advertisement The work of Cambodian sculptur Chanthou Oeur depicts the atrocities by the Khmer Rouge at the Proleung Khmer exhibit. John Tlumacki/Globe Staff (Some historians and many Cambodians Theam was a child when the family fled; her birth certificate says she was born in 1975, although she's unsure if that's right. Advertisement She remembers flashes of the refugee camps in Thailand her family stayed in — there were at least a half dozen — and the transitional center in the Philippines where her family was prepared for life in America, which included English lessons. Her family made the move in 1984, sponsored by a Lutheran Church, and settled in Bristol, Conn. She would attend Boston College and would eventually move to Lowell and Chelmsford, where she currently lives. Nearby in the exhibit, there is another photo, this one of Theam's husband, Sayon Soeun, who was kidnapped by the Khmer Rouge at 5 or 6 and forced to become a child soldier. These stories are commonplace in Lowell, home to what is believed to be the second largest Cambodian community in the country, behind only Long Beach, Calif. A small park is in the midst of Cambodia Town in Lowell with a statue depicting Bayon, a treasured temple in Cambodia. John Tlumacki/Globe Staff Po Yung sells clothes and other items outside a market in Cambodia Town. John Tlumacki/Globe Staff A reliable population count is hard to come by, as locals dismiss the Census figures as inaccurate, but people like Sothea Chiemruom, executive director of the Cambodian Mutual Assistance Association, estimate Lowell has between 20,000 and 35,000 residents of Cambodian descent. Elsewhere on the exhibit floor, there are happier images of the Cambodian diaspora, Khmer instruments, mannequins draped in traditional Khmer dress, paintings and art by Cambodian American artists, a cart that would be pulled by oxen in the old country. It's important to memorialize the 50th anniversary of the fall of Phnom Penh, said Chiemruom and Theam, but it's also vital to them that people understand Cambodians are so much more than what the Khmer Rouge did to them. Theam, who co-chairs Proleung Khmer, the organizers behind the exhibit and a group that works to preserve Khmer heritage, considered the photo of her and her sister, with their swollen bellies. Advertisement 'It reminds me how precious life is,' she said. Many here speak unwaveringly of horrors a half-century in the past and a half-a-world away. Summary executions. Hard child labor. Famine. Genocide. These are stories of perseverance and trauma. 'We all have different levels of PTSD,' Chiemruom said. Chiemruom survived the Killing Fields, which refer to the rural sites of mass execution. His younger brother and his father were not so lucky. Chiemruom, now 56, can still recall his father being taken away by the Khmer Rouge to be executed. Sothea Chiemruom walked through a small curbside produce market in Cambodia Town. John Tlumacki/Globe Staff He remembers being told that he should show no reaction to that abduction. He was there when his brother died of illness and malnutrition brought on by starvation at about 7 years old. Sometimes, he still wonders why he and his brother fought so much as kids. 'Survivor's guilt,' he said. 'It ebbs and flows.' Before he was a teen, he worked hard labor for the benefit of the Khmer Rouge, planting and harvesting crops, tilling the fields, building canals. Brutal work for a child. At night, there would be indoctrination lessons for youths featuring regime propaganda. Like Chiemruom, Sokhary Chau was forced into labor in Cambodia as a young boy. He herded cows before he was separated from his siblings and sent to work in the rice fields, which sometimes were studded with landmines, he said. Chau, who was the first Cambodian American mayor in Lowell, as well as nationwide, now serves as a Lowell city councilor. His father was a captain in the Cambodian Army who fought against the Khmer Rouge. He was among the first to be executed when the country fell in 1975, leaving his mother to raise seven children, he said. Advertisement 'We lived in constant fear of being tortured and killed any day,' he said recently. In 1979, his mother fled through the jungle, travelling at night with her children, to refugee camps in Thailand. The Roman Catholic Church eventually sponsored the family to come to the US. 'This anniversary is not only a time to remember the horrors we endured; it is a moment to honor how far we've come,' he said. 'Cambodians will continue to heal together, to support one another, and to make sure the world never forget what happened to our people.' The trauma of those years has spanned generations and is still a reality in the lives of many, both Chiemruom and Theam say. Take Theam's mother. Theam said she is normally quiet but there are times when she has 'bursts of anger.' 'Sometimes it's unexplainable,' she said. Some elders in the community don't talk about what they went through, Theam said, and when the rage erupts, younger relatives who did not live through the hellish Khmer Rouge are left asking why. There were other ripple effects. Cambodian gangs in Lowell started organizing not for criminal activity, but for protection walking to and from school. Advertisement 'They got picked on by other groups,' he said. Nuon, 61, lost three brothers through starvation and sickness during the rule of the Khmer Rouge. His mother, he remembered, was helpless to prevent their deaths. 'We couldn't help ourselves,' he said. His story is not so different from many Cambodian Americans, he said, and it's important to never forget the inhumanity of that regime. The exhibit in the old mill building brought him to tears. He had to find a corner to collect himself. 'For a lot of us, we bury it deep down, deep down, in order to survive, to function,' he said. 'It just hit me.' Cambodian refugee Sophy Theam puts her hand on the photo of her husband, Sayon Soeun at the Proleung Khmer exhibit. Soeun was forced to become an armed Cambodian soldier as a child at 5 years old. John Tlumacki/Globe Staff Material from the Associated Press was used in this report. Danny McDonald can be reached at