They tell us that God is dead. And now the Party, they call the Uncle, will provide everything for us. He says, Uncle has identified and proclaims that the existence of a bad new disease, a memory sickness like those that think too much about life in pre-revolutionary Cambodia. He says, we are surrounded by enemies. The enemy is inside us. No one can be trusted. … We must be like the ox, and have no thought, except for the Party. And have no love, but for the Angka. People starve, but we must not grow food. We must honor the comrade children, whose minds are not corrupted by the past. … The wind whispers of fear and hate. The war has killed love. And those that confess to the Angka are punished, and no one dare ask where they go. Here, only the silent survive.
The Killing Fields, Dith Pran