by Nathaniel Myers
The New Year began in Cambodia much as the previous one had ended, with the sudden arrest of a critic charged with defaming the government. On Dec. 31, police took into custody one of the country's most high-profile human-rights advocates; the following week several more government critics were arrested. The crackdown prompted a great deal of press attention and foreign criticism of Prime Minister Hun Sen's government. The arrests were condemned by organizations ranging from the World Bank to Amnesty International to the United Nations, while the U.S. ambassador declared that Cambodia faced a choice between democracy and moving "inexorably toward a one-party state."
In response to the criticism, Hun Sen responded that he was only defending his personal reputation and the work of his government to maintain stability in Cambodia. Those justifications, alas, sounded all too familiar; they were employed throughout 2005 with discouraging frequency by the prime minister in defense of his government's misbehavior.
The government's actions have taken a high toll on Cambodia's democracy. The only remaining opposition party, the Sam Rainsy Party (SRP), is in dire straits: Its eponymous leader was found guilty in December of defamation and remains in exile. A deputy sits in prison, and several other party officials face legal charges, while its small delegation in parliament is powerless to check the government's actions. Having barely survived 2005, Cambodia's nascent democracy is in serious jeopardy.
In a region where many countries have endured great tragedy, Cambodia stands out for the enormity of its suffering. In the last 35 years, Cambodians have endured five regimes, prolonged civil war, sustained American bombing, a foreign occupation, and the deaths of an estimated two million of their fellow citizens–nearly a quarter of the population–at the hands of the genocidal Khmer Rouge. A Vietnamese invasion forced the Khmer Rouge back into the jungle in 1979 and installed the Cambodian People's Party (CPP) in power, but even that failed to bring peace: The surviving Khmer Rouge elements fought a guerrilla campaign into the mid-1990s.
Stability has remained elusive throughout most of the last 10 years. Following the withdrawal of Vietnamese troops in the late 1980s, the U.N. sponsored a national election in 1993, but the incumbent Cambodian People's Party refused to surrender power after its defeat. A U.N.-brokered compromise eventually installed the CPP's Hun Sen and the leader of the winning party, Prince Norodom Ranariddh of the royalist Funcinpec Party, as "co-prime ministers." The two spent much of the 1990s jockeying for power, competing to persuade surviving Khmer Rouge elements to defect to their faction of the government. Political tension escalated into street fighting in 1997, and Prince Ranariddh fled the country. He returned to contest the 1998 elections, which the CPP won following allegations of foul play, and Funcinpec ran again as an alternative to the CPP in 2003. Those elections failed to produce a clear victor, and Funcinpec formed an "Alliance of Democrats" with the Sam Rainsy Party to block the CPP from forming a government. After more than a year of stalemate, Prince Ranariddh suddenly broke the alliance in July 2004 and joined Hun Sen to form a coalition government.
Speculation over why Prince Ranariddh joined his old adversary continues in Phnom Penh today. Whatever the reason, the impact on Cambodia's young democracy has been clear and considerable. The CPP and Funcinpec have rapidly re-embraced each other and enjoy the fruits of a symbiotic relationship; though they remain nominally separate, Funcinpec acts increasingly as an appendage of the CPP.
The arrangement has ensured support for the government from 99 of the 123 parliamentarians in the national assembly, enabling Hun Sen to wield it as a rubber stamp. Apparently unsatisfied even with this comfortable majority, the government filed legal charges against Sam Rainsy, who subsequently fled the country, and two of his deputies in February. The national assembly obligingly voted to strip the three of their parliamentary immunity. The Sam Rainsy Party representatives in the national assembly have ended a six-month boycott and resumed attending sessions of parliament, but they remain effectively powerless.
The manner in which SRP deputy Cheam Channy was prosecuted showed how the prime minister has increasingly employed the national judicial system as though it were a wing of his government. Mr. Channy was stripped of his immunity in February and tried by a military court in August on charges of attempting to raise a "shadow army" of 40,000 men. The trial, filled with procedural violations and obvious political manipulation, hinged in large part on a prosecution witness who memorably accounted for inconsistencies in his testimony by declaring, "I don't remember my confession. I was deceived. I have a mental problem."
The prime minister has become increasingly unconcerned with disguising his control of the courts, and they are now being openly deployed against the government's political opponents. In another high-profile case, two men were charged with the public assassination of a popular labor leader who had criticized the government. The judge who originally heard the case and dismissed it for lack of evidence soon found himself transferred to a rural province and, a few months later, suspended without explanation.
The courts also played a leading role in what was perhaps the most tense political moment of the year, a week in October in which the prime minister prepared to formalize Cambodia's border with Vietnam. The treaty was expected to accept the existing border, and though sure to raise hackles among nationalists, the issue hardly seemed a threat to national security.
Hun Sen, however, apparently thought otherwise, and lashed out at real and imagined critics of his border policy, beginning with the arrest of a radio host and director of Cambodia's only independent radio station who had interviewed a guest critical of the border policy. Hun Sen warned that anyone who spoke out against the agreement with Vietnam would be committing an "act of treason" and would be arrested for defamation. Days later, warrants were issued for four civil society leaders, while the heads of several major local human-rights organizations quietly left the country.
The prime minister's rhetoric escalated. He warned of the dire consequences that would befall anyone who contemplated a coup, and threatened to abolish the enormously popular Cambodian monarchy if the royal family did not support the border treaty. A royal who had publicly criticized the border policy promptly fled the country. Then, just as soon as it had begun, Hun Sen's campaign against border critics fell silent. It was, as Human Rights Watch described it, "the most severe assault on dissent in Cambodia" since 1997.
Today, in the aftermath, Hun Sen governs largely unopposed. His political opposition, though still occasionally vocal, has been marginalized and left with little formal institutional power. Meanwhile, the prime minister trumpets the "stability" his rule has brought.
Unfortunately, this forced stability has brought few benefits to the majority of Cambodians. The contrast between the wealthy haves of the Cambodian political, military, and business elite and the impoverished have-nots that make up the rest of the populace is stark. The children of the elite cruise Phnom Penh in enormous SUVs, travel abroad to shop and study, and utilize their political and financial muscle to escape punishment when they are caught breaking the law. The rest of the population, 40% of which lives below the poverty line, is lucky to own a motorbike and is as likely to be victimized by corrupt police as by criminals.
Cambodia's population is young and growing, which means some 250,000 Cambodians enter the work force each year, but there are far too few jobs to go around. The divide between rich and poor, meanwhile, continues to grow, a process that is accelerated by laws and judicial rulings that serve the interests of the wealthy and well-connected at the expense of the poor.
Outside of the courtroom, the government has also been striking deals directly with politically connected businessmen–for instance, when it renewed a no-bid contract with a well-connected oligarch allowing him to operate the ticket sales for the hugely popular Angkor Wat temple park. Another popular government-business maneuver is "land swaps," transactions in which the government agrees with a local businessman to exchange a well-located government building for a new, modern replacement constructed on cheaper land outside the capital–and, in some cases, cash payments. These swaps had become sufficiently commonplace that few eyebrows were raised in August when Cambodian real estate tycoon Mong Reththy, a long-time Hun Sen ally, announced his latest acquisition. Though the business model was nothing unusual, the symbolism was particularly striking–Mr. Reththy was literally buying the courts, acquiring the property of the Supreme Court, the justice ministry, the city's municipal court and its court of appeals.
There can be little doubt that the millions of Cambodians still living in poverty are grateful for the peace they have enjoyed in recent years. Foreign and domestic investors alike also appreciate Hun Sen's commitment to "stability." But there is serious reason for concern that with every step Hun Sen has taken in the name of stability–eliminating his political opposition, using the courts to attack civil society critics–he has made the foundation of that stability even more tenuous. In the face of increasing demand for effective government response to pressing social needs, Hun Sen has responded not by addressing these concerns or fostering civic discussion, but by attacking and suppressing the voices of the concerned and the institutions that might give them outlet. If Hun Sen continues to rule as he has this past year, public frustration will only continue to grow, fed by the entrenched poverty, transparent corruption, government mismanagement, and abuse by political and business elites. Without institutional outlets for legitimate expression, it will inevitably come into conflict with the forces of government control.
It has been more than 25 years since the Khmer Rouge were forced from power by the Vietnamese Army–but contrary to the claims of its prime minister, Cambodia still has yet to find lasting peace. The prospect of renewed mass unrest would be cause for concern in any country; it is doubly so in Cambodia, given its long history of violence. -January 2006
In response to the criticism, Hun Sen responded that he was only defending his personal reputation and the work of his government to maintain stability in Cambodia. Those justifications, alas, sounded all too familiar; they were employed throughout 2005 with discouraging frequency by the prime minister in defense of his government's misbehavior.
The government's actions have taken a high toll on Cambodia's democracy. The only remaining opposition party, the Sam Rainsy Party (SRP), is in dire straits: Its eponymous leader was found guilty in December of defamation and remains in exile. A deputy sits in prison, and several other party officials face legal charges, while its small delegation in parliament is powerless to check the government's actions. Having barely survived 2005, Cambodia's nascent democracy is in serious jeopardy.
In a region where many countries have endured great tragedy, Cambodia stands out for the enormity of its suffering. In the last 35 years, Cambodians have endured five regimes, prolonged civil war, sustained American bombing, a foreign occupation, and the deaths of an estimated two million of their fellow citizens–nearly a quarter of the population–at the hands of the genocidal Khmer Rouge. A Vietnamese invasion forced the Khmer Rouge back into the jungle in 1979 and installed the Cambodian People's Party (CPP) in power, but even that failed to bring peace: The surviving Khmer Rouge elements fought a guerrilla campaign into the mid-1990s.
Stability has remained elusive throughout most of the last 10 years. Following the withdrawal of Vietnamese troops in the late 1980s, the U.N. sponsored a national election in 1993, but the incumbent Cambodian People's Party refused to surrender power after its defeat. A U.N.-brokered compromise eventually installed the CPP's Hun Sen and the leader of the winning party, Prince Norodom Ranariddh of the royalist Funcinpec Party, as "co-prime ministers." The two spent much of the 1990s jockeying for power, competing to persuade surviving Khmer Rouge elements to defect to their faction of the government. Political tension escalated into street fighting in 1997, and Prince Ranariddh fled the country. He returned to contest the 1998 elections, which the CPP won following allegations of foul play, and Funcinpec ran again as an alternative to the CPP in 2003. Those elections failed to produce a clear victor, and Funcinpec formed an "Alliance of Democrats" with the Sam Rainsy Party to block the CPP from forming a government. After more than a year of stalemate, Prince Ranariddh suddenly broke the alliance in July 2004 and joined Hun Sen to form a coalition government.
Speculation over why Prince Ranariddh joined his old adversary continues in Phnom Penh today. Whatever the reason, the impact on Cambodia's young democracy has been clear and considerable. The CPP and Funcinpec have rapidly re-embraced each other and enjoy the fruits of a symbiotic relationship; though they remain nominally separate, Funcinpec acts increasingly as an appendage of the CPP.
The arrangement has ensured support for the government from 99 of the 123 parliamentarians in the national assembly, enabling Hun Sen to wield it as a rubber stamp. Apparently unsatisfied even with this comfortable majority, the government filed legal charges against Sam Rainsy, who subsequently fled the country, and two of his deputies in February. The national assembly obligingly voted to strip the three of their parliamentary immunity. The Sam Rainsy Party representatives in the national assembly have ended a six-month boycott and resumed attending sessions of parliament, but they remain effectively powerless.
The manner in which SRP deputy Cheam Channy was prosecuted showed how the prime minister has increasingly employed the national judicial system as though it were a wing of his government. Mr. Channy was stripped of his immunity in February and tried by a military court in August on charges of attempting to raise a "shadow army" of 40,000 men. The trial, filled with procedural violations and obvious political manipulation, hinged in large part on a prosecution witness who memorably accounted for inconsistencies in his testimony by declaring, "I don't remember my confession. I was deceived. I have a mental problem."
The prime minister has become increasingly unconcerned with disguising his control of the courts, and they are now being openly deployed against the government's political opponents. In another high-profile case, two men were charged with the public assassination of a popular labor leader who had criticized the government. The judge who originally heard the case and dismissed it for lack of evidence soon found himself transferred to a rural province and, a few months later, suspended without explanation.
The courts also played a leading role in what was perhaps the most tense political moment of the year, a week in October in which the prime minister prepared to formalize Cambodia's border with Vietnam. The treaty was expected to accept the existing border, and though sure to raise hackles among nationalists, the issue hardly seemed a threat to national security.
Hun Sen, however, apparently thought otherwise, and lashed out at real and imagined critics of his border policy, beginning with the arrest of a radio host and director of Cambodia's only independent radio station who had interviewed a guest critical of the border policy. Hun Sen warned that anyone who spoke out against the agreement with Vietnam would be committing an "act of treason" and would be arrested for defamation. Days later, warrants were issued for four civil society leaders, while the heads of several major local human-rights organizations quietly left the country.
The prime minister's rhetoric escalated. He warned of the dire consequences that would befall anyone who contemplated a coup, and threatened to abolish the enormously popular Cambodian monarchy if the royal family did not support the border treaty. A royal who had publicly criticized the border policy promptly fled the country. Then, just as soon as it had begun, Hun Sen's campaign against border critics fell silent. It was, as Human Rights Watch described it, "the most severe assault on dissent in Cambodia" since 1997.
Today, in the aftermath, Hun Sen governs largely unopposed. His political opposition, though still occasionally vocal, has been marginalized and left with little formal institutional power. Meanwhile, the prime minister trumpets the "stability" his rule has brought.
Unfortunately, this forced stability has brought few benefits to the majority of Cambodians. The contrast between the wealthy haves of the Cambodian political, military, and business elite and the impoverished have-nots that make up the rest of the populace is stark. The children of the elite cruise Phnom Penh in enormous SUVs, travel abroad to shop and study, and utilize their political and financial muscle to escape punishment when they are caught breaking the law. The rest of the population, 40% of which lives below the poverty line, is lucky to own a motorbike and is as likely to be victimized by corrupt police as by criminals.
Cambodia's population is young and growing, which means some 250,000 Cambodians enter the work force each year, but there are far too few jobs to go around. The divide between rich and poor, meanwhile, continues to grow, a process that is accelerated by laws and judicial rulings that serve the interests of the wealthy and well-connected at the expense of the poor.
Outside of the courtroom, the government has also been striking deals directly with politically connected businessmen–for instance, when it renewed a no-bid contract with a well-connected oligarch allowing him to operate the ticket sales for the hugely popular Angkor Wat temple park. Another popular government-business maneuver is "land swaps," transactions in which the government agrees with a local businessman to exchange a well-located government building for a new, modern replacement constructed on cheaper land outside the capital–and, in some cases, cash payments. These swaps had become sufficiently commonplace that few eyebrows were raised in August when Cambodian real estate tycoon Mong Reththy, a long-time Hun Sen ally, announced his latest acquisition. Though the business model was nothing unusual, the symbolism was particularly striking–Mr. Reththy was literally buying the courts, acquiring the property of the Supreme Court, the justice ministry, the city's municipal court and its court of appeals.
There can be little doubt that the millions of Cambodians still living in poverty are grateful for the peace they have enjoyed in recent years. Foreign and domestic investors alike also appreciate Hun Sen's commitment to "stability." But there is serious reason for concern that with every step Hun Sen has taken in the name of stability–eliminating his political opposition, using the courts to attack civil society critics–he has made the foundation of that stability even more tenuous. In the face of increasing demand for effective government response to pressing social needs, Hun Sen has responded not by addressing these concerns or fostering civic discussion, but by attacking and suppressing the voices of the concerned and the institutions that might give them outlet. If Hun Sen continues to rule as he has this past year, public frustration will only continue to grow, fed by the entrenched poverty, transparent corruption, government mismanagement, and abuse by political and business elites. Without institutional outlets for legitimate expression, it will inevitably come into conflict with the forces of government control.
It has been more than 25 years since the Khmer Rouge were forced from power by the Vietnamese Army–but contrary to the claims of its prime minister, Cambodia still has yet to find lasting peace. The prospect of renewed mass unrest would be cause for concern in any country; it is doubly so in Cambodia, given its long history of violence. -January 2006
Mr. Myers is a free-lance writer and former adviser to a coalition of Cambodian NGOs.
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