In the wake of the deadliest Thai-Cambodian border conflict in decades, Cambodia is grappling with a convergence of political upheaval, humanitarian crisis, and a near-collapse of independent journalism. The five-day skirmish and the ongoing tensions along the border have not only displaced thousands but also shaken the very foundations of the country’s long-standing Hun Sen regime, leaving the nation at a crossroads as global powers and local actors jostle for influence.
According to The Nation, since 2022, over 40,000 Cambodians—including Indigenous families with deep ancestral ties—have been forced out of their homes around the world-famous Angkor Wat to make way for booming tourism. Many of these families now find themselves in places like Run Ta Ek, a relocation site 25 kilometers northeast of Angkor, where arable land and jobs are scarce. Hob Touch, a 65-year-old farmer and survivor of past Cambodian conflicts, described his situation plainly: “During the Khmer Rouge, I could at least grow rice to eat. Here, there is no rice to grow, no jobs. Life is more difficult.”
The humanitarian situation has only worsened as hundreds of refugees from the border conflict have poured into Siem Reap and surrounding areas. Women have given birth in makeshift camps, often without proper medical care, while villages are divided by barbed wire and families are forced to improvise shelter and meals. The lived reality, as recounted by local citizen journalists, is a far cry from the official narrative of “regional stability.”
Yet, the stories of these displaced and desperate communities are at risk of vanishing from the public eye. In January 2025, President Donald Trump signed an order suspending foreign assistance, resulting in a sudden loss of nearly $7 million earmarked for media development in Cambodia. The funding cuts struck a devastating blow to independent media outlets, shuttering Voice of America’s local operations and leaving organizations like the Cambodian Center for Independent Media (CCIM) scrambling. “We don’t have the budget to increase capacity, to train our citizen journalists, or even to buy basic reporting equipment,” said Chhan Sokunthea, CCIM’s executive director, as quoted in The Nation.
The Cambodian government, meanwhile, has tightened its grip on the media. As The Nation reports, all national TV and radio stations broadcasting in Khmer, as well as major newspapers, are state-controlled. In July 2025, former Prime Minister Hun Sen shut down one of the last remaining independent outlets ahead of national elections, further narrowing the space for dissent and investigative reporting. The Cambodian Journalists Alliance Association, once a bastion of independent news, lost more than half its budget, forcing it to operate with just three reporters. “If local reporters cannot investigate, how will the international community even know where these scams are based?” asked Nop Vy, the association’s executive director.
The dangers facing journalists are not just financial. In September 2024, award-winning investigative reporter Mech Dara was arrested and charged with “incitement” for allegedly spreading fake news on social media—a move widely condemned by human rights groups as politically motivated. Dara, who had previously exposed government links to human trafficking and cybercrime, remains under court supervision and is barred from leaving the country. The risks are all too real: a citizen journalist was murdered by an illegal logger, and a British journalist had their visa revoked for reporting on environmental crimes.
This climate of fear and censorship means that much of the coverage of the border conflict and its fallout is filtered through state media. Without independent voices, the narrative is dominated by official statements, leaving the true scale of suffering and displacement largely hidden from both Cambodians and the international community. “You have all the ingredients, but you don’t have a pot to cook. There is no market here,” Dara lamented, describing the bleak job prospects for independent journalists.
The political landscape is equally fraught. The recent conflict and international backlash against grey-zone Chinese capital have weakened Prime Minister Hun Manet’s government, threatening the Hun family’s decades-long rule. According to The Nation Thailand, speculation is mounting about a possible political transition, with attention focusing on two figures: Sam Rainsy, the exiled opposition leader, and Prince Norodom Chakravuth, head of the royalist FUNCINPEC Party.
On October 22, 2025, Sam Rainsy announced via Facebook that the “Independent Cambodian Government of 23 October” would be proclaimed in Paris on October 25. The move, referencing the 1991 Paris Peace Agreement that ended Cambodia’s civil war, is widely seen as the first step toward a government-in-exile and a challenge to the legitimacy of the current regime.
Meanwhile, Beijing appears to be reassessing its support for the Hun dynasty. Reports indicate that China, frustrated with Hun Sen’s declining health and Hun Manet’s diminishing popularity, is now favoring Prince Norodom Chakravuth as a potential successor. Senior Chinese Communist Party officials visited the prince in early October, signaling a possible shift in allegiance. Chakravuth, son of the late former Prime Minister Norodom Ranariddh, was appointed FUNCINPEC leader in early 2022 after reconciliation efforts led by his sister, Princess Norodom Rattana Devi. In the 2023 election, Hun Sen even instructed the National Election Committee to grant FUNCINPEC five parliamentary seats, a rare concession to the royalist camp.
Chakravuth has since been building his profile, visiting rural communities and encouraging frontline troops, fueling talk of a royalist revival. His lineage, tracing back to King Norodom Sihanouk—a Cold War ally of China—gives him symbolic legitimacy in Beijing’s eyes, contrasting with Rainsy’s pro-Western stance. Social media sentiment within Cambodia seems to support this royalist resurgence, viewing Chakravuth as a moderate alternative to the opposition.
Amid these seismic shifts, ordinary Cambodians bear the brunt of uncertainty. In Run Ta Ek, Hob Touch watches his grandchildren play beneath the stilts of their metal shack. “I feel very hopeless. My father provided nine hectares of land for me. The land I can provide for my son and daughter is a half-hectare. What will happen to my grandchildren? There is no land.” His plea is simple: that the government visit the site to see the dire conditions and allow for factories so residents can earn wages. While the government responded to some reporting by providing buses for residents to travel to Siem Reap for work, many families still endure long, hot journeys for basic necessities.
The cost of this under-coverage is not just ignorance but the erasure of human lives and stories. As Nop Vy put it, “Foreign aid is messy, but right now, it’s necessary to sustain the last independent media alive in Cambodia.” With the future of Cambodia’s political order in flux and the fate of its most vulnerable hanging in the balance, the need for independent, on-the-ground reporting has never been more urgent.
