Maybe that sample is useful:
Before the American war ended, an excess of 2,750,000 tons of bombs were dropped on Cambodia, more than the total tonnage dropped by the Allies in all of World War II. Cambodia is a tiny country, about the size of Washington state. An estimated 600,000 Cambodians were killed in the American bombing campaign.
As the war escalated from 1970-75, Cambodia was engulfed in violence and fully engaged in the war. In 1970 a military coup took place after which the monarch was replaced by a pro-American government.
Every day he listened to news from Cambodia on the radio, and was beset by anguish.
His meditation master advised him to concentrate on his spiritual practice – to foster peace within his own heart – and to wait for the right time to return to his people.
“It was in Thailand, in a place of safety, that he first heard about the outbreak of fighting in Cambodia. He learned that his parents and all his brothers and sisters had been murdered. He was told, over time, of the death of many of his fellow monks and nuns. And of course, he said, he wept for so many losses. He wept for his country. He wept, he said, every day and could not stop weeping. But is teacher urged him to stop. “Don’t weep,” he was told, “Be mindful.”
“Having mindfulness,” his teacher said, “is like knowing when to open and when to close your windows and doors. Mindfulness tells us when is the appropriate time to do things…you can’t stop the fighting. Instead, fight your impulses toward sorrow and anger. Be mindful. Prepare for the day when you can truly be useful to your country. Stop weeping, and be mindful!”
Ghosananda sat for a long time and reflected upon the killings, and upon what his teacher had said. He realized that the dead were dead. They were in the past. Gone. All his family, all his friends, were gone. He thought about the future, and saw that it was totally unknown. He decided to do the only thing that he could do, which was to take care of the present just as well as he could. “The present is the mother of the future,” he said. “Take care of the mother. Then the mother will take care of the children.” So he went back to practice, back to his breath. For, as he said, “Breathing is not past or future. Breathing is now.”
The weeping stopped. “There is no sorrow in the present moment,” he explained. “How can there be? Sorrow and anger are about the past. Or they arise in fear of the future. But they are not in the present moment. They are not now.”
For nine more years he went on with his practice in the Thai forest, secluded in a hut, and there he gained the clearly and stability of mind, the understanding and the love, that are the fruit of very deep meditation. 
Maha Ghosananda heard the news that the Khmer Rouge took control of Phnom Penh on April 17, 1975. The leaders of Khmer Rouge envisioned themselves as the saviors of the Cambodian nation-state, capable of reviving Khmer national identity in pristine form, that is, shorn of foreign influence, capable of creating a militant and mobilized peasantry to guard against foreign domination, capable of approximating the agricultural feats achieved during the Angkorean period, and, finally, capable of restoring national grandeur to Cambodia.” 
As Khmer Rouge forces entered the city, Supreme Patriarch Hout Tat went onto Phnom Penh radio and asked the military to lay down their weapons. Huot Tat was one of Ghosananda’s teachers as a young monk. “The war was over”, Hout Tat said. “Peace had come to Cambodia.” After the radio address, he returned to his temple at Wat Unalom where he was taken into custody by the Khmer Rouge and falsely accused of keeping a wife and children in Paris.
The next day he was taken to Udong Mountain, the ancient royal capital north of Phnom Penh, and killed, reportedly by being crushed under a bulldozer.
A bust of the patriarch is on display at the Ounalom temple. It was retrieved from the Mekong River in 1979, where it had been thrown by the Khmer Rouge.
from the Buddha of the Battlefield
with loving kindness