Phnom-Penh: Packing Their Bags

As the deadline on U.S. bombing approached and insurgent forces moved closer to Phnom-Penh, TIME Correspondent Barry Hillenbrand visited the Cambodian capital and sent this report:

Phnom-Penh is still a pleasant city of wide boulevards and blooming bougainvillea that until now has managed to lead a life singularly remote from the violent realities of the area. Restaurants are still fine and unhurried, the women statuesque and elegant, the pace of life easy and gentle.

Now the bombing shakes the walls each day as the fighting comes closer. Even seasoned veterans glance nervously at each other on occasion, because it is increasingly difficult to distinguish between the thud of American bombs and the thump of incoming insurgent shells. Someone is always claiming that the airport is being shelled.

Refugees cram the city's once spacious environs, building their temporary houses of wood and palm leaves along the boulevards like so many hot-dog stands on the way to the Rose Bowl. But this is not a game. About 3,000 wives and children of the richer families have already fled to France and their European bank accounts. Yet Phnom-Penh is far from chaos. The Khmers do not panic easily.

Squads of police have begun to comb the city to round up last-minute draftees. Those who can pay for freedom ($200 is the going rate) are released. Those who cannot end up in a muddy makeshift training ground at Prey Sar, a former prison camp. There a weeping new soldier told his story: "The police came to the restaurant where I worked at 9 a.m. and took me away. I have a wife and six children. They do not know where I am. I do not want to be a soldier. I don't want to die." The camp is already filled with 2,000 such pathetic men, while overhead American jets streak past and drop their loads of bombs only 2 1/2 miles away.

Even before the 9 p.m. curfew the streets are nearly deserted. Chen Houyang, 42, a Chinese businessman, says: "We are afraid to go out after 6 o'clock. I'm worried about my sons. The oldest is only 15, but the police will snatch him. All the police know how to do is eat money, money, money. It's never been this bad before," and he snaps his mouth like a dog nipping at the heels of a retreating intruder. People are shifting away from the Lon Nol regime. By the scores refugees are heading out of Phnom-Penh and into new havens on the other side. Others are waiting for the bombing to stop on Aug. 15 before they join the exodus. Many of the middle class now would seem to welcome the end of the corrupt government of Lon Nol. "The first thing the insurgents will do is shoot the profiteers and the corrupt people," says one Khmer, "and that will be a good move."

The diplomatic community has already abandoned the Lon Nol ship of state. One group after another has evacuated dependents and unnecessary personnel: the Japanese, the British, the Malaysians, the Australians and so on down the line. The U.S. embassy is still at its congressional limit of 200 staffers. Phnom-Penh has only about 65 other American residents, plus about 30 to 40 journalists. They all have been notified of evacuation stations and advised by the embassy that they will be allowed to bring only one small suitcase; the embassy notice suggested that the bag best be packed in advance.

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