A disconcerting silence in Cambodia

Aug 16, 2012
By Ryan Paine
Asia Times Online
SPEAKING FREELY

If only freedom of assembly were allowed and freedom of thought were encouraged by the country's elders - surely then we would see a hefty part of the population coming round to the conclusion that institutionalized violence and oppression advancing private commercial interests is really not cool.

When I arrived in Phnom Penh on the first night of Khmer New Year, I expected I would find more than a few small fireworks and a Ferris wheel. Assuming it was temporary, set up for the festivities, I had to get on it before it disappeared or fell down. In the end I didn't rush because I found out it's permanent. When I did finally have a ride, it sucked: too slow, only one revolution, and covered in garish advertising. I did win a toy that night though.

I also expected to find more media and publishing when I arrived here to work with a literary association, but it turns out the scene here is much like the streets were that night: quiet, and still quite dangerous. There was no Ferris wheel though - no place to go for a concise overview of modern Cambodian literature.

Of course I knew I was coming to work in a media industry where freedom of expression is not taken for granted the way it is at home in Australia. However, I hadn't expected the gaping holes in publishing infrastructure created as a result of this freedom being so limited. It's a self-perpetuating situation that leaves a disconcerting silence in the capital, but also a huge opportunity for the development of literary literacy and the improvement of the human condition this promotes.

អ្នក​បឹង​កក់​ព្យាយាម​រក​អន្តរា​គមន៍​ដោះ​លែង​តំណាង

អ្នក​បឹងកក់និង​កូន​ៗ​របស់​អ្នក​តំណាង​ដែល​ជាប់​ឃុំ​ ផ្តុំ​គ្នា​តវ៉ានៅ​មុ​ខព្រឹទ្ធ​សភា។ រូបថត ​វីរៈ ម៉ៃ

Monday, 11 June 2012
ឃុត សុភចរិយា-ឆាយ ច័ន្ទនីដា
The Phnom Penh Post

«ខ្ញុំ ​ត្រូវ​បង្ខំ​ចិត្ត​ឈប់​រៀន​ដោយ​ខ្លួន​ឯង ដើរ​តវ៉ា​សុំ​ឲ្យ​គេ​ដោះ​លែង​ម្តាយ ព្រោះ​បើ​ទៅ​រៀន​ក៏​គ្មាន​ន័យ​អីដែរ បើ​ម្តាយ​ជាប់​ឃុំ» - កុមារី ឃិន ចរិយា អាយុ​១២ឆ្នាំ

ភ្នំពេញៈ ប្ដី​និង​កូនៗ​ស្ត្រី​នៅ​តំបន់​បឹងកក់ ពលរដ្ឋ​មក​ពី​សហ​គមន៍​នានា និង​ក្រុម​អង្គការ​សង្គម​ស៊ី​វិល​ប្រមាណ​ជាង​២០០​នាក់ កាល​ពី​ម្សិល​មិញ បាន​ប្រមូល​ផ្ដុំ​គ្នា​នៅ​មុខ​ពន្ធនា​គារ​ព្រៃស ដើម្បី​គាំទ្រ​និង​លើក​ទឹក​ចិត្ត​ដល់​ម្ដាយ​និង​តំណាង​ខ្លួន​ដែល​ជាប់​ឃុំ​ក្នុង​ពន្ធនា​គារ​ព្រោះ​តែ​ការ​តវ៉ា​ក្នុង​ជម្លោះ​ដីធ្លី​មិន​ទាន់​ដោះ​ស្រាយ និង​អំពាវ​នាវ​រក​អន្តរា​គមន៍​ឲ្យ​មាន​ការ​ដោះ​លែង​អ្នក​ទាំង​នោះ។

នេះ​ជា​លើក​ទីពីរ បន្ទាប់​ក្រុម​អ្នក​បឹង​កក់ បាន​ទៅ​ប្រមូល​ផ្ដុំ​គ្នា​នៅ​មុខ​ពន្ធនា​គារ​ព្រៃស ចាប់​ពី​ថ្ងៃ​ទី​២៤ ខែ​ឧសភា ដែល​ស្ត្រី​តំណាង​អ្នក​ភូមិ​១៣​នាក់ ត្រូវ​តុលាការ​ភ្នំពេញ​កាត់​ទោស​ឲ្យ​ជាប់​ពន្ធ​នាគារ​ក្នុង​ម្នាក់ៗ ពី​មួយ​ឆ្នាំ​ទៅ​ពីរ​ឆ្នាំ​កន្លះ និង​ពីរ​នាក់​ទៀត​ត្រូវ​ចាប់​បញ្ជូន​មក​ឃុំ​នៅ​ក្នុង​ពន្ធ​នាគារ​នេះ រង់​ចាំ​ការ​ជំនុំ​ជម្រះ។

នៅមុខ​ពន្ធនា​គារ​ព្រៃ​ស ខណៈ​កុមារា​កុមារី ជា​កូនៗ​របស់​ស្ត្រី​ក្នុង​សហ​គមន៍​បឹង​កក់​បាន​ទ្រហោ​យំ និង​ស្រែក​ច្រៀង​រៀប​រាប់​ពី​ទឹក​ចិត្ត​ម្ដាយ​របស់​គេ ដែល​បាន​ព្យា​យាម​តស៊ូ​មតិ ដើម្បី​ការ​ពារ​ដី​និង​ផ្ទះ​សម្រាប់​គ្រួសារ​និង​សហ​គមន៍ ហើយ​ត្រូវ​អាជ្ញាធរ​ចាប់​ខ្លួន​ផ្ដន្ទា​ទោស​ទាំង​«អយុត្តិ​ធម៌» នោះ។ លោក អ៊ូ គង់​ជា ដែល​ត្រូវ​ជា​ប្ដី​របស់​អ្នក​ស្រី ទេព វន្នី បាន​ប្រាប់​ភ្នំពេញ​ប៉ុស្តិ៍​ថា ពួក​គាត់​នឹង​ធ្វើ​ការ​តស៊ូ​មតិ តាម​ការ​ត្រួស​ត្រាយ​របស់​ភរិយា និង​តំណាង​របស់​ខ្លួន​បន្ត​ទៀត រហូត​មាន​ដំណោះ​ស្រាយ​ដោយ​យុត្តិ​ធម៌ និង​តម្លា​ភាព។

លោក​បាន​ថ្លែង​ថា៖«ថ្វី​បើ​ពួក​គាត់​ត្រូវ​គេ​បង្ខាំង​នៅ​ក្នុង​ពន្ធ​នាគារ ប៉ុន្តែ ការ​តវ៉ា​ការ​ពារ​សិទ្ធិ​លំនៅ​ដ្ឋាន​របស់​សហ​គមន៍​បឹង​កក់​យើង​ខ្ញុំ នឹង​មិន​បញ្ចប់​ឡើយ»។

Spineless Pannasastra U. succumbs to self-censorhip!!!: X-Rated TEDxPP

The stage at this year's TEDxPP, hosted at Pannasastra University (South Campus). Photograph: Shelby Doyle/Phnom Penh Post

Rated X for content: TEDxPP

Monday, 11 June 2012
Joseph Freeman and Bridget Di Certo
The Phnom Penh Post

My father Chut Wutty was killed by an AK-47

The grand finale at Phnom Penh’s much-ballyhooed TEDx event on Saturday was intended to send a message.

Several activists, among them Loun Savath and the son of the late Chut Wutty, would stand before an audience of 600 and read accounts of violent land disputes.

Images from clashes between government forces and evictees would play in the background. That was the plan, anyway, until sponsors and a dean from host institution Pannasastra University saw the dress rehearsal on Friday.

The decision that followed was swift – the show must not go on.

“Our internal regulations at our school prohibit any political rallies and political manifestations of any kind,” Raymond Leos, dean of communications and media arts, said yesterday.

The cancelled performance came to light over the weekend when a surreptitious recording of Friday’s meeting was posted on the internet.

The move has since been decried by human rights groups as a fresh example of self-censorship and a lack of free expression in the Kingdom.

“This is supposedly the most prestigious university in Cambodia; it’s really shameful that a private entity in education would prevent a panel of activists from talking about social issues,” Licadho director Naly Pilorge said.

Fear Among Journalists Hindering Freedom: Analysts

even supporters of the ruling Cambodian People’s Party have been poorly treated

A furious Strongman pointing aand barking at reporters

Sok Khemara, VOA Khmer
Washington, DC Monday, 25 April 2011

“People remain in fear, and journalists in particular can be threatened and are working in fear."

As Washington prepares for a series of events to mark World Press Freedom Day next month, Cambodian journalists and media analysts say heavy restrictions on media remain.

The US will host the Unesco-supported event from May 1 to May 3, in a number of functions that focus on 21st Century media and its challenges, especially in social media.

Cambodia, meanwhile, continues to struggle with traditional media rights.

Cambodia’s law provides for a free press, among other constitutional freedoms, but journalists here contend with threats, criminalized lawsuits, bans and self-censorship, analysts said.

“When journalists commit self-censorship, by not daring to publish information that is strongly critical of the government, or information that is negative about society, then this causes the democratic process to not only stand in place, but to go backward,” Moeun Chhean Narridh, director of the Cambodian Institute for Media Studies, said.

Twelve journalists were killed in Cambodia between 1995 and 2008, but no perpetrators have been arrested in any of those cases. Other journalists have been jailed under criminal defamation or disinformation laws, especially those affiliated with the opposition.

Boy Roeuy, publisher of the Khmer Nation paper, which is sympathetic to the opposition Sam Rainsy Party, said fear among journalists is at an all-time high.

“There’s a strong surge [in fear] when we see corrupt officials,” he said. “Before, we could write about it, but now if we write they use methods of threaten us, directly or indirectly, through those that know us. This causes us to pay attention, to be afraid, and is, especially, frustrating us from writing the story, literally.”

It is also getting harder to seek balancing comments from government officials, he said, opening up more lawsuits. All of this adds up to a weakened opposition press, which has a vital role, he said.

“Without the opposition, they freely mistreat our citizens,” he said.

Meanwhile, even supporters of the ruling Cambodian People’s Party have been poorly treated, he said, citing the example of Boeung Kak lake, whose residents have protested an impending real estate development that will push them from their homes.

'Selective' Coverage After Murders: Reporter

By Mean Veasna, VOA Khmer
Original report from Phnom Penh
14 July 2008

Moneaksekar Khmer, one of only two opposition newspapers remaining in Cambodia, will be selective in subsequent stories, a staff reporter said.

The murders of an opposition journalist and his son in Phnom Penh Friday night have sent a ripple of self-censorship through his old newspaper, journalists said Monday.

Khim Sambor, 47, and his 21-year-old son, Khat Sarinpheata, were gunned down as they drove on a motorbike near Olympic Stadium Friday evening, just 16 days away from a national election.

Khim Sambor died at the scene, and his son died at a local hospital a few hours later. Both men were cremated in a Buddhist ceremony Sunday.

The killings have meant a change in the way Moneaksekar Khmer will operate, the editor said Monday.

"We don't know if there will be other pressure after the murders. We must be very careful, even for security, and in the work," the editor, Dam Sith, said. "We are afraid that if we write something risky, it could bring us in front of accusations."

Dam Sith was held in jail for a week last month following a story he ran implicating Foreign Minister Hor Namhong as a member of the Khmer Rouge.

He was released when Hor Namhong dropped defamation charges against him, and Dam Sith swore at the time to continue his pro-opposition coverage of the country.

Now, his stories will reflect a more cautious editorial approach. Self-censorship on the meaning of story text and the choice of words will change, he said.

"The murder of Khim Sambor is a serious threat against Moneaksekar Khmer," Dam Sith said. "We are worried now for the whole staff as they are reporting, and when they get back home."

Other Moneaksekar Khmer journalists echoed Dam Sith's concerns.

"We are concerned in accomplishing our jobs," said Vong Sopheak, a reporter for the newspaper. "We don't know what will happen to us, and so we must be more careful. We don't want to have a confrontation. And now we are selective of the information and selective of the topic."

Khim Sambor had covered politics, including the reporting of stories on government corruption, for the newspaper, which is affiliated with the Sam Rainsy Party.

Human rights groups said his murder was likely due to his reporting. Khim Sambor had reported for many years, and focused on conflicts, election irregularities, illegal logging, fisheries crimes, land grabbing, "which are related to powerful Cambodian officials," the Cambodian Human Rights Action Committee said in a statement. His murder was likely related to his reporting, the group said.

The killings were roundly condemned by local and international rights groups.

"Allowing this murder to go unpunished would have a considerable impact on the 27 July elections, and we therefore hope the investigation will produce quick results," Reporters Without Borders said in a statement Saturday.

Moneaksekar Khmer is only one of two opposition newspapers.

A third, Sralanh Khmer, began reporting from a pro-Cambodian People's Party point of view following the defection to the ruling party of its top editor, Thach Keth, who is now a CPP undersecretary of state for the Ministry of Information.

Opposition leader Sam Rainsy called Khim Sambor's killing a political assassination and called for an immediate investigation.

"When one who dares to write or argue against those with absolute power is assassinated, the perpetrators behind the killing are never found nor tried according to the law," he said in a statement Saturday. "This clearly demonstrates the nature of those in power."

Sam Rainsy also called for further investigations into murders of other opposition supporters, including labor leader Chea Vichea, parliamentarian Om Rasadie, "as well as countless numbers of journalists, political activists and others."

Police have made no arrests in Friday's killings.

The US Embassy issued a statement Monday offering the help of its Federal Bureau of Investigation office "if requested by the Cambodian government."

Royalist Voice silenced by Mam Sonando's Voice of the People: Unethical Beehive station self-censorship?

Beehive Radio station suspends the broadcasting of the NRP program

12 October 2007
By Phan Sophat Radio Free Asia
Translated from Khmer by Socheata

The popular Beehive radio station which has been broadcasting foreign radio stations, NGOs and political parties programs, issued a declaration today indicating the suspension of the broadcasting of the Samleng Reacheaniyum (Royalist Voice) of the NRP. The station indicated that the program could affect the honor of certain individuals.

In a letter sent by Mam Sonando, director of the Beehive station – Voice of the people, to the director of the NRP radio program, Mam Sonando indicated that the suspension of the program will take effect between 12 and 14 October 2007.

Mam Sonando told RFA that the reason for the suspension was not due to political pressure.

Nevertheless, Muth Chantha, NRP spokesman, reacted to this suspension by accusing the station’s decision as being undemocratic, and it is of political nature.

Muth Chantha said: “Therefore, his decision to suspend us between 12 to 14 October is an unjust issue, and this is not a democratic radio station as he (Mam Sonando) claimed it to be. We see this meaning, we believe that this issue does not involve the law or anything else, but it is a political pressure. First, he sells broadcasting time, therefore, he is afraid that his radio station could be shut down and he would lose his job. Secondly, it could be that he was under political pressure because of his possible involvement with some political party, who knows?”

The suspension of the Royalist Voice program by the NRP which is broadcasted on the Beehive radio station one hour each day, is another ugly affair following last week’s decision by the ministry of information to suspend the Khmer Amatak newspaper which is a paper also supporting the NRP.

Human rights organizations indicated that these suspensions constitute a bad sign for the freedom of expression, and they could be construed as an unsavory political design to denigrate Prince Ranaridddh, the NRP president.

A Reporter Returns Home

From American Journalism Review (AJR),
October/November 2007

Teaching in Cambodia, and learning some tough lessons

By Putsata Reang

Just one month after I helped launch a pioneer project training Khmer journalists in investigative reporting, Cambodia's repressive government cracked down on dissent, arresting at least five human rights activists and journalists. In spite of the risks, I urged the reporters to continue their dangerous but critical work. They lashed back.

"It's easy for you to say," one journalist told me. "You can get on a plane and go back home. We have to stay."

I wanted to say: "But this is my home. I'm Khmer, just like you," until I realized the hollowness of those words. The shameful truth was that if Cambodia's political instability worsened, I would leave again. Only this time, by choice. Thirty-two years before, my family and I fled the Khmer Rouge.

Growing up in Corvallis, Oregon, I listened to my Ma spin stories about Cambodia, tales of climbing coconut trees and riding water buffalo through sun-smeared rice paddies. She said little about the war, only that we were lucky to be alive.

"When you are old enough," she'd say, "go help Cambodia."

I finally did, two years ago. Supported by an Alicia Patterson Fellowship, I was going to spend a year researching Cambodia's intractable problem of land grabbing. At Portland International Airport, my mother dabbed at big watery eyes. "Good luck, gohn ma [mother's child]," she said. "Be careful."

When I moved there in February 2005, Cambodia was volatile. The year before, popular labor rights activist Chea Vichea was gunned down while reading a newspaper. Garment workers and farmers alternately protested in front of the National Assembly. One month after I arrived, military police shot and killed five farmers during a forced eviction. Few Khmer journalists had the skills or resources to get beyond basic facts and dig deeper into such stories.

As my fellowship came to a close and I prepared to head home, Internews, an international media development organization, posted a job advising journalists in Cambodia. I read the description and knew it was made for me. I took a buyout from the San Jose Mercury News and then called my Ma to tell her I wasn't coming home. I was already there.

I thought I was the ideal candidate to push for media development in Cambodia. I had solid professional credentials and was qualified like no other candidate. I'm Khmer. I speak the language and understand the culture. The benefits were clear. The drawbacks were not.

Being able to communicate with journalists during training and one-on-one mentoring sessions meant greater efficiency. Understanding the culture meant there were things they did not need to explain, such as why stories never included ages (it's rude to ask) and few were infused with direct quotes (it's an affront to directly question authority).

I wasn't prepared for the more nuanced challenges that working in media development in my homeland would present — challenges that invariably pitted me against the journalists I was trying to help.

Forging trust and extracting respect from them would be my first obstacle. I was working in a field with few women, in a program where all the participants were male and mostly older than I. No one in Cambodia's male-dominated society wants to answer to a woman, much less a younger one. I had no credibility and a lot to prove. I was also what the journalists called "Khmer por[d]adeh ," or "Cambodian from abroad," a foreigner. A fraud. In America, I never felt truly American. Now in Cambodia, I was told I wasn't really Cambodian.

I soon started to appreciate the distinction. Nariddh, the assistant journalism adviser, and I habitually urged good ethics. Cambodian journalists routinely practice "reporting by envelope," where getting paid to attend press conferences by the people holding them was not the exception but the rule.

One afternoon, a few reporters from our group strolled into our office and joked loudly about a press conference they covered that morning, where journalists jostled afterward as government officials distributed envelopes stuffed with R10,000 (roughly $5).

"Did you take one?" I asked Sem Saroeun, a journalist who earns about $50 monthly.

He paused, then said: "Of course I did. What can I do? My children are hungry."

"How can we write about corruption if we are corrupt?" I asked the other reporters during one training session on objectivity, balance and fairness.

Averted eyes. Silence. Then one weighed in.

"How much do you make on your NGO salary?" Eng Mengleng asked.

My answer mimicked theirs. Averted eyes. Silence. We shared shame, but for different reasons.

That night, I cried. In a country where some journalists make in one month what I might spend on a good Cabernet, and where my international job paid international wages and extras, like housing and health insurance, my condemnation of their bribe-taking felt disingenuous. In Cambodia, depending upon who you were, professional ethics was either a sacrifice or a luxury.

Beyond their lack of writing and reporting experience, the journalists were operating in a country with no freedom of information law, a place where telling the truth meant risking their lives. The end result: stories populated by anonymous sources and rumors that reporters tried to pass off as fact. Ban Chandararith ("Rith") investigated generous tax breaks on farmland for wealthy and politically connected businessmen. He refused to name names.

"It kills credibility," I said.

"I don't want to get killed," Rith replied.

I dropped the matter.

The biggest challenge arrived quickly. Just as the program tottered to its feet, Cambodian Prime Minister Hun Sen began targeting journalists who criticized his border treaty with Vietnam. The string of arrests left our reporters shaken. Some of them — even those who worked for pro-government newspapers — wanted to leave the program, while others threatened to drop out of journalism altogether. A few talked privately about fleeing to Thailand.

Now was not the time to quit, Nariddh and I pleaded, but rather to stay and fight. When the journalists pointed out that I had something they did not — freedom to leave — I felt betrayed, confused, guilty as charged. I had already prepared for my own escape, withdrawing several thousand dollars in cash and wedging it inside my passport. Just in case.

By virtue of escaping from Cambodia in 1975 — and the Khmer Rouge genocide these journalists had survived — I possessed a dark blue passport emblazoned with a bald eagle seal that was my golden ticket to safety.

There were no more arrests that year. The journalists' stories led to major changes, including an overhaul of hiring practices within the Ministry of Education, long overdue pension payments for demobilized soldiers and the firing of the Minister of Labor accused in a human trafficking scandal. The program grew. The guys and I did, too.

Throughout the year, I walked a fine line between nudging them to fight for a free press and being complicit in their self-censorship for safety's sake.

When my contract with Internews ended, I knew that for all the reasons I was right for the job, I was also wrong for it. I declined a promotion, even as the guys were asking me to stay.

It was time for me to go home.

Putsata Reang (Putsata@gmail.com) is a journalist and author of the true crime novel "Deadly Secrets." She is currently at work on a family biography.