Time seems to fly. It has been fifty years since the April 17, 1975, when I found myself in Toul Kork, Phnom Penh, as Khmer Rouge soldiers entered the city. Dressed mostly in black, their arrival marked the beginning of the darkest chapter in Cambodia's history.

I was in Toul Kork with my recently married Cambodian wife, Te Chou Meng, staying with friends who assured us they supported the Khmer Rouge. At the time, we were listening to BBC World Service for updates, though the local market buzzed with speculations about the future. The following day, the Khmer Rouge announced that everyone must leave Phnom Penh immediately — no exceptions. Despite assurances that we could return soon, no timeline was provided.

Interestingly, I was not worried. I was curious about the direction the Khmer Rouge would take, and their proposals seemed reasonable to me at the time. Enthusiasm carried me forward, even as I misunderstood the gravity of the situation.

Our exodus began in earnest. On the journey, I recall pushing the Peugeot belonging to our friends, though I was unsure why. They took as much food as possible. The destination was Prek Kdam, where we were told we could choose our next stop. Strangely I thought, many wished to return to Phnom Penh. Unknown to me, people likely knew that the KR would extract revenge but not total destruction of Cambodian society.

Despite the heat and limited food, my excitement overshadowed hunger. Thirst, however, was another challenge, though I managed to find drinkable water. In an unexpected twist, I even helped deliver a baby during this journey. Mistaken as a doctor simply because I was “barang” and wore glasses, I pitied the woman I assisted. She kindly offered me food — pra hoc with boiled rice — which tasted delicious despite the circumstances.

On Day 5, at Prek Kdam, I was interviewed by Khmer Rouge cadres who appreciated my support but insisted I return to Phnom Penh, unable to guarantee my safety. My wife, as a "daughter of the revolution," was allowed to accompany me. The return journey was surreal, with over 30 stops by soldiers questioning her eligibility to go back to Phnom Penh.

Near a Cham Mosque and the Pepsi Cola bottling plant on Phnom Penh's outskirts, I was further interviewed and offered icy cold Pepsi — a fleeting pleasure amidst chaos. From there, we were sent to the French Embassy. Initially, the Charged’Affaires resisted our entry, especially my wife's, until Khmer Rouge soldiers intervened and opened the gates. We later learned that earlier in the day, Cambodian women married to non-Cambodian men were forced out of the embassy by the Khmer Rouge.

Eventually, we left the embassy, heading to Thailand. The Thai border guards were surprised at our permission to cross, yet we did. Relieved? Not quite, as we had hoped to stay in Cambodia. Lucky? Absolutely.

Returning to Cambodia several times in the 1980s, my wife and I heard harrowing tales of death and destruction, stories so overwhelming they often seemed beyond belief. The cruelty of Pol Pot toward the Cambodian people remains a question that defies understanding.

In 1992, Chou Meng and I returned to live in Cambodia. She has remained there ever since, while I lived in the country for a decade before relocating to Thailand. Over time, I have been amazed by the resilience of Cambodians. Step by step, they have rebuilt their nation. Today, Cambodia is vastly different from the Cambodia of 1975 — a testament to the strength and determination of its people.

Cambodians deserve the highest praise for their journey of survival and growth. Despite the challenges, like a 46% tariff imposed on exports by the US, I have no doubt that they will find innovative ways to minimise its impacts. At least it is nowhere near as heinous as the bombing of Cambodia by the Americans.

While the US cannot be held responsible for all the depredations of the KR, it cannot wash its hands completely. But resilience is unyielding, their spirit indomitable. On this auspicious day I wish all Cambodians សូមជូនពរបងប្អូនខ្មែរទាំងអស់ជួបតែសេចក្តីសុខគ្រប់ប្រការ.

Dr. Shane Tarr is a New Zealand-born freelance development consultant who was living in Phnom Penh with his Cambodian wife when the city fell to the Khmer Rouge. Now based in Thailand, he has decades of experience working on large-scale public and private projects across the region. The views and opinions expressed are his own.