Cambodian activist Samady Ou shares how social media and grassroots organizing can offer a solution to crackdowns on free speech in Cambodia while also connecting voices across international borders.
My story begins before I was born, with my grandfather, Ou. He was an educator who believed deeply in the power of knowledge. In 1978, under the Khmer Rouge regime, this steadfast belief became his crime – young soldiers, barely 18 years old, came in the night and took him away. His profession marked him as an enemy of a revolution that sought to erase history and critical thought. He vanished into the Killing Fields: open-air graves where the regime discarded those it deemed impure. My family never saw him again, and he became another life extinguished in a genocide that claimed nearly a quarter of Cambodia’s population through execution, starvation, and forced labor.
My father, who was just a young boy then, survived. He hid in rice paddies and silently watched as neighbors disappeared one by one, their families erased by the nameless, faceless organisation known as Angkar. He was raised with those memories of loss and survival, and in turn, he raised me with them. He taught me that the Khmer Rouge’s reign of terror was not only a product of internal fanaticism but also of external indifference. “The worst horrors happen when the West looks away,” he would tell me, a lesson learned from a world that was aware but indifferent to the Cambodian atrocities. His survival forged his resolve to rebuild, leading him to become a politician dedicated to ensuring that such a catastrophe would never again befall our nation.
Cambodia’s Long Struggle for Democracy
On April 17, 1975, the Communist Party of Kampuchea, also known as the Khmer Rouge, seized control of Cambodia. Their rise followed years of civil war, American bombing campaigns, and Cold War geopolitics that destabilised the region. Led by Pol Pot, the Khmer Rouge worked to dismantle all civic rights, eliminated property rights completely, and persecuted and killed minorities. Armed with the belief that Western influence was corrupting Cambodia, they sought to eliminate all traces of said influence. The Khmer Rouge killed anyone deemed to be intellectual, including professors and teachers like my grandfather, people who spoke a foreign language, and even simply people who wore glasses. Throughout their four-year rule, it is estimated that around 3 million people died.
Grassroots organising is the lifeblood of democracy. In exile, we may not be able to vote, but we can educate. We can protest. We can raise funds, tell stories, and hold institutions accountable. We can be mentors to those who come next. Every citizenship workshop, every livestreamed protest, every translated document matters. Each act, however small, helps chip away at the regime’s control.
When the regime finally fell in 1979 after months of war with Vietnam, Cambodians were left devastated. The new People’s Republic of Kampuchea, supported by Vietnam and the Soviet bloc, took over governance. In 1985, Hun Sen, a former Khmer Rouge general who was just 32 years old, was appointed Prime Minister. He would become one of the world’s longest-serving leaders. In 1993, under UN supervision, Cambodia held its first election. While nominally democratic, the election was marred by violence, intimidation, and assassinations. A UN report noted dozens of politically motivated killings linked to Hun Sen’s Cambodian People’s Party (CPP). Sen’s grip on power remained firm, even as Cambodia rebranded itself as a democracy.
The CPP has stayed in power for more than three decades, often through manipulation, coercion, and election interference. Today’s Cambodia is a nation with the external trappings of democracy but none of its substance. The National Assembly is dominated by the ruling party. The judiciary is weaponised to silence dissent. Civil society is monitored and suppressed.
Cambodia’s fight for democracy and human rights is not a new one. My grandfather’s dream of an educated, democratic nation became my father’s purpose, and now, my responsibility.
The Exiled Voices of Cambodia
Today, Cambodia’s democracy continues to unravel. The CPP has banned opposition parties like the Candlelight Party, and former opposition leaders face exile, house arrest, or trumped-up charges of treason. Participation in politics outside of CPP loyalty is treated as subversive.
Independent media, which was once a vital check on power, has been systematically dismantled. In 2023, the last remaining major independent outlets were shut down. Award-winning journalists like Mech Dara have been detained for exposing state corruption and human rights abuses. Earlier this year, Gerald Flynn – a British investigative journalist – was banned from Cambodia after his work on a documentary which provoked anger from the government, accused of spreading false information. International organisations and watchdogs continue to report declining press freedom and civil liberties.
Though Hun Sen stepped down in 2023, handing power to his son Hun Manet, the transition was purely symbolic. Sen remains the Senate President and CPP leader, ensuring his continued dominance over Cambodian political life. The repression under Hun Manet mirrors his father’s tactics: surveillance, censorship, and fear.
This has made meaningful dissent inside the country nearly impossible. However, where voices within have been silenced, the international diasporic community has stepped up.
I work with many of these exiled voices: former members of the Cambodian National Rescue Party (CNRP), advocacy groups like the Khmer Movement for Democracy (KMD), and independent activists across Japan, South Korea, Thailand, and beyond – many of whom are carrying on a generational fight as I am. Together, we campaign for international sanctions, push legislative efforts like the Cambodian Democracy and Human Rights Act (S. 2331) and European Parliament resolutions (2024/2952(RSP)) and organise coordinated protests across the world. Our rally in South Korea drew over 30,000 participants – a symbol of solidarity and strong resistance. We also lead grassroots initiatives, including legal clinics and civic education workshops for Cambodian migrant workers.
None of this is without risk. At the beginning of this year, Lim Kimya – a former opposition MP in Cambodia and dual-French citizen – was assassinated on the streets of Bangkok, just days after his posts on Facebook criticising the Hun family. Last year, the brother of exiled dissident Vanna Hay, was arrested in Cambodia under false charges. He was only released after Vanna posted a video to social media denouncing the opposition figure’s actions and defecting to the CPP. My aunt, Kimhun Thit, was targeted by the Hun Sen Cambodian regime’s transnational repression for her work in Washington D.C.; they sent bullets to her mailbox in North Carolina as a threat against her activism.
These incidents underscore a chilling reality: authoritarianism doesn’t stop at national borders. The regime wants us to know that exile does not equal safety.
Advocacy in a Digital Age
Despite the risks, social media has emerged as a crucial weapon in our arsenal. For young activists, it offers what the government fears most – connection.
Platforms such as Facebook and Telegram have allowed us to connect with the global diaspora movement, organising and sharing stories of resistance. Youth activists in North Carolina can coordinate with activists in Seoul, sharing resources and building solidarity. Through these platforms, we amplify each other’s work and sustain morale in the face of threats. The Kem Ley Academy youth network, for instance, provides a vital space for young activists to exchange stories of harassment and courage, building resilience in the process. These platforms allow us to create support systems that remind us that we are not alone, and to learn from others’ experiences about when to speak up and when it is necessary to step back.
Social media also lets us circumvent the CPP’s censorship. The government’s crackdown on truth-tellers is no coincidence – Cambodia has become a hub for transnational cybercrime, with scam centers operating across the country. A recent Amnesty International report condemned the government’s failure to address these crimes. Notably, Hun To – cousin of the Prime Minister – is allegedly linked to these operations. Instead of prosecuting the perpetrators, the government targets those who expose them.
In response, youth-led initiatives now focus on digital education and self-protection. We teach each other how to spot AI-generated scams and fraudulent job listings. By disseminating critical information online, we help prevent exploitation and protect our communities.
We also use digital platforms to ensure our stories reach global audiences. When international media can’t access Cambodia, we fill the gap. We report on diaspora-led protests, share legislative updates, and tell the truth about what’s happening on the ground. When the media inside the country refuses to report on stories which may reflect badly on the regime, such as protests or the bills in U.S. Congress, we are able to share those through social media and provide hope for people inside the country. In a landscape where silence is enforced, even a single post can carry the weight of resistance.
In this vacuum of truth, youth-led online activism plays a critical role. Technology is shaping how we remember and resist, and in the absence of free media, we become our own historians. Young Cambodians are leading the way for our community to ensure our stories are heard. Whether that be in the diaspora, inside the country, or on the international stage, we ensure that our stories will not be omitted from history as once happened to my grandfather and so many like him.
A Legacy to Remember
In Cambodia, revolution has always come from the people – teachers, farmers, students. That is our legacy. And now, it is our duty.
Grassroots organising is the lifeblood of democracy. In exile, we may not be able to vote, but we can educate. We can protest. We can raise funds, tell stories, and hold institutions accountable. We can be mentors to those who come next. Every citizenship workshop, every livestreamed protest, every translated document matters. Each act, however small, helps chip away at the regime’s control.
The strength of our movement lies not in one figurehead or party. It lies in the thousands of young people who refuse to give up. It lies in the stories we tell and the futures we fight for.
My grandfather, the educator, was killed for the knowledge he shared. My father, the politician, has dedicated his life to rebuilding the society that was shattered. Their legacy is my inheritance and my inspiration. It has led me to become an activist and advocate, to give voice to the stories that were silenced and to fight for human rights of all people in Cambodia and throughout Southeast Asia. It is a mission born from the bones of the Killing Fields and the resilience of a boy who refused to forget, ensuring that the world never looks away again.
As the inheritors of a long and painful struggle, we carry not only the trauma of our past but the fire of our future. And we will not let that fire go out.
Image credit: Heng Reaksmey, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
