Travel Reference
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sured that as bad as things got, the country always had fewer political prisoners than
Burma or Vietnam or Laos, and would present a freer face to the world than just about
any country in the region. The hunger for foreign legitimacy and aid led Hun Sen to allow
Sam Rainsy's return before the 2013 election; when protests broke out after the election,
outside scrutiny meant the CPP had to tread carefully in facing down popular calls for
change. Violence did break out, but things could well have been a lot worse. The mirage
of democracy is clearly better than no democracy at all.
But it is a mirage nonetheless. If the past 30 years of Cambodian history have shown
anything, it's that political changes imposed from the outside are often superficial, and
only last as long as foreigners can bring political leverage to bear on the country's leaders.
In mid-2014, there is every indication that outside attention is refocusing. With growing
aid and support from China, Hun Sen and the CPP have an escape hatch from Western
pressure. At the same time the US has been systematically downgrading the import-
ance of human rights as it seeks to counter Beijing's rising influence in the Asia-Pacific.
Twenty years ago it might have seemed as if Cambodia lay in a democratic slipstream.
Now it seems like the dream of a half-forgotten age.
While advocacy groups like Human Rights Watch continue to call on the US and
European donor countries to step in and save Cambodia from itself, these countries have
less interest than ever in being conscripted into a new conflict. After the dubious 2013
election, most congratulated Hun Sen on his victory. Others, like the US, made pro forma
calls for an election investigation but did nothing much to bring it about. The aid con-
tinued to flow, in exchange for stability—a political compromise that American and
European officials continue to hide behind their own mirage of democratic language. If
change comes to Cambodia it will come not from above—from a shape-shifting “interna-
tional community”—but from below, from the Cambodian people themselves.
In Svay Rieng, the sun set over the paddy fields, drowning in a pink-streaked sky. In the
18 months since she had recovered from her shooting outside the Kaoway Sportswear
Factory in Bavet, Bun Chenda had married and moved out of home. She still worked at
the factory, along with her 24-year-old husband, and sent money back to her parents in
Prek Pdav. “If I can save money I'd like to open a grocery shop,” she said, as we sat at a
small café on the highway, where semi-trailers thundered past, border-bound.
Like most Cambodians, Chenda has always known the mirage was thin. After years of
winning people's support with peace and basic development, Hun Sen's government now
faces real political pressures from ordinary people like her—from a diverse collection of
garment workers, monks, evicted farmers, opposition politicians, and human rights act-
ivists. Before the 2013 election, Chenda had supported Hun Sen, like most people in her
village; after the shooting, she cast a vote for Sam Rainsy. “I hope when the CNRP wins
more support, they will quickly find justice for us,” she said.
