Gunman Had Attended School He Assaulted : Cambodian Relives Pain of Killing Fields

Tears in her eyes, In Or bitterly recalled the day her husband, then a rebel Cambodian soldier, was reported killed in a fire fight with forces supporting the murderous Khmer Rouge that once ruled that country.

Alone with two young children, she made the brave but risky decision to flee. “I wanted to be in a place of peace and freedom--the United States,” the slightly built Or, 36, recalled Wednesday.

Braving death, discomfort and destitution, Or finally made it to America--trading the killing fields of Cambodia for the bucolic bounty of California.

Or so she thought.

Dream Cut Down

Her dream of a peaceful life was cut down Tuesday by the very kind of horror--a weapon of war, a military assault rifle--that she thought she had left behind.

Her 9-year-old son, Rathanan Or, was one of the five children fatally shot by an emotionally disturbed, criminally inclined young drifter at a Stockton elementary school.

“This brought back memories of the killing in Cambodia,” In Or said. “I thought it would never happen again. I felt the United States was free and peaceful; I can’t believe my son is dead.”

When the drifter, Patrick Edward Purdy, fired indiscriminately into children frolicking in midday recess at Cleveland Elementary School, most of those he wounded--and all of those he killed--were the children of Southeast Asian immigrants.

The war-ravaged histories of many of the families directly affected by the tragedy has exacerbated its effect on this town of 190,000 residents. It has revived dormant memories and kindled new anxieties among Stockton’s large and diverse refugee community.

Some of the effects have been dramatic. Chun Keut, father of another slain student, 8-year-old Ram Chun, collapsed after hearing of his daughter’s death and was rushed to a nearby hospital with an apparent heart attack.

“He cried a little,” a relative said, “but he couldn’t talk. And so I think his heart broke.”

Other effects are more subtle.

Ram Chun’s 16-year-old brother, Ra Chun, said his neighbors in the 230-unit Park Village apartment complex--a sprawling, scruffy series of buildings with too many people and filled with the squeals of children and the smells of exotic foods--are confused, frustrated and angry.

“They angry. They have anger the most,” he said, nervously flicking his fist into his other hand. “They’re upset; they’re angry, they’re angry.”

For many immigrants--particularly the more recent arrivals from Cambodia and Laos, who had little money, fewer skills and deep emotional scars from a lifetime of war--Stockton seemed to give their children a chance to realize two things they had never known: peace and prosperity.

The dream drew tens of thousands of eager immigrants to this pleasant riverfront farming center. The 1980 census counted fewer than 1,000 Southeast Asian refugees in San Joaquin County, said Dan Ortiz, coordinator of the county refugee assistance program; less than eight years later, more than 30,000 had made their home in Stockton alone.

Although they are often considered a single entity by government officials and native residents, refugees maintain their distinct cultural identities and often cluster together in housing, community newspaper editor Sen Nguyen said.

About half of Stockton’s refugees are Cambodian, a third are Vietnamese and the remainder are Lao or Hmong.

Many, from farmers to doctors, have been able to transfer their old-country skills to the Central Valley. A smaller number have received intensive training and learned new skills.

However, most refugees are handicapped by a limited knowledge of English and few saleable skills. Like In Or, many find themselves on welfare.

Mayor Barbara Fass said the influx of refugees--many of whom came here after initially being placed elsewhere in the United States--has had a tremendous effect on the city.

Some problems, such as their budget-straining reliance on welfare, she expects will last only until the children are old enough to leave school and work. Other influences, she said, are helping to permanently enrich this comfortable city of wide, tree-shaded streets and single-family homes.

Interesting languages fill the air now and interesting shops line some streets, she observed. Highly motivated and well-supervised new students have challenged all others to do better.

“We’re used to a very heterogenous community; we have always had large Filipino and Japanese communities,” the mayor said. “This is just another addition to the mix.”

The mix has not always been smooth. Although a large majority of Stockton residents have been kind to the refugee communities, others have not.

Refugees tell of taunts hurled from passing cars at themselves, their children or their well-known, easily recognizable apartments and houses. In many cases, hecklers exhort refugees to return to their wasted and forgotten homelands--”this country is not for you.”

Nguyen said most people endured the taunts without complaint. Many, he said, believed that if they would only keep to themselves, they would be left alone--and eventually prosper and be accepted.

Now, he said, many in the community wonder if more bullets may follow the epithets.

Samouth So, vice president of a refugee social service agency called Cambodian Community of Stockton, said such concerns will hamper the healing process, but not stop it.

“We have a lot of experience with pain,” he said.