With the recent outbreak of fighting along the Cambodia-Thai border came an accompanying surge of AI-generated content. Much of it was nationalistic AI slop passed off as news or comment, although some of it was rather amusing.
On Facebook, simple cartoon-like images accompanied posts and video explainers used AI-generated images as wallpaper for an equally fake voiceover. There was a not-so-deepfake video purporting to be a BBC report on Thai chemical warfare, in which the presenter abruptly switches from an American to a British accent.
Once Donald Trump claimed credit for ending the conflict, there was a whole new influx of memes; perhaps most memorably, this YouTube reel of the US president preparing a green papaya salad. Amusing, but a distraction.
In Cambodia, AI is far less of an issue than the shifting economy of news and old-fashioned government restrictions on press freedom.
Reporters Without Borders (RSF) released its 2025 press freedom index in May, shunting Cambodia down a further ten places to 161 out of 180 countries.
“The democratic transition that began in the late 1980s allowed the emergence of a thriving media sector until former Prime Minister Hun Sen launched a ruthless war on journalistic freedom in 2017,” stated RSF. “His sad legacy of repression against independent media seems to be perpetuated by his son, Hun Manet, in power since 2023.”
The Cambodian government, however, had a ready response.
The Ministry of Information’s 2024 Report on the State of Press Freedom in Cambodia is a surreal mix of fact and fiction, of toadyism and carefully-worded push-back. It’s part of the authoritarian government’s effort to spin Cambodia’s image to the world. Close to 80% of journalists thought press freedom was good or excellent, stated the report.
Those in the government-affiliated media sang dutifully from the songbook. “I have been working as a journalist for 30 years and I have never had any problems,” said Puy Kea, president of the government-aligned Club of Cambodian Journalists.
Cambodia’s independent media union countered with commendable directness. “Press freedom in Cambodia is limited,” said Nop Vy, executive director of the independent Cambodian Journalists Alliance Association (CamboJA).
Cambodia’s media was once a relative bright spot in Southeast Asia, especially when compared to communist neighbours Vietnam and Laos. But as the ruling Cambodian People’s Party (CPP) tightened its grip on power, it also coveted more control of the media. Previously, newspapers and radio stations were aligned to the various political parties, offering a form of pluralism, and foreign-language reporting was tolerated.
But one by one, newsrooms not linked to the CPP were forced to close. This included English-language publications that were vital to translating Cambodian affairs to the outside world – The Cambodia Daily and Phnom Penh Post, as well as the local officesof Radio Free AsiaandVoice of America.
The legal, financial and physical attacks on independent media have had a chilling effect on the next generation. I recently led the University of Melbourne’s Centre for Advancing Journalism team researching Cambodia’s journalism education landscape, funded by UNESCO.
We found the Royal University of Phnom Penh’s Department of Media and Communication doing an admirable job preparing graduates for media careers. But the university director was blunt: students have no interest in journalism as a career.
Advertising, film and television, sure, but not journalism. Being a reporter was seen as political, dangerous and—worst of all—low-paying. Even as we conducted the research, the then-Prime Minister Hun Sen shut down one of the last remaining independent outlets,Voice of Democracy. The move was described by RSF as “a near-fatal blow to the country’s independent media environment.”
The financial and political backing of China has made Cambodia much more assertive in all areas, including media policy. One government official told us that he sees international agencies such as UNESCO as merely as tools to extend the government’s work. Tellingly, even our well-sourced and mildly-worded report about how to support journalism education was buried by the UN agency, which decided not to publicly release it.
A theme that came up often in our conversations was the emphasis on professional standards—as judged by the government. Admittedly, ethical standards vary widely, with corruption and extortion continuing to be a problem. However, the pressure on reporters to uphold “professional standards” is increasingly understood as a euphemism for towing the government line.
In fact, Cambodia’s State of Press Freedom report said the government undertook 50 ‘professional orientations’ to reporters, who are often threatened with jail and forced to promise they will behave themselves.
The best example of this is Mech Dara, an award-winning investigative journalist who was arrested and only released on bail in 2024 when he apologised to Cambodia’s leaders.
The other big problem for Cambodia’s media industry is money. While the government-aligned media benefits from cronyism, the independent media has long been buttressed by foreign assistance.
In recent years, some foreign aid officials have privately expressed doubt about investing more money into Cambodia’s withering media scene or concern about being accused of supporting a “revolution” against the CPP.
An anticipated US$7 million of USAID funding for media development was scrapped by President Trump earlier this year, as part of wider aid cuts. The move was hailed by Cambodia’s former Prime Minister Hun Sen, and China quickly said it will fill the gap.
“Independent outlets have been forced to make painful decisions—laying off staff, terminating projects, and urgently seeking alternative sources of funding,” said Cambodianess editor Sao Phal Niseiy, in an opinion piece titled “For Journalists in Cambodia, a Funding Freeze Is Scarier than AI.”
All of this leaves Cambodian citizens less informed and more vulnerable to propaganda. It would undermine democracy if there was even a semblance of that left.
The wire agencies grind away but Cambodia’s prominence in the world is low amid so much large-scale conflict and urgent environmental issues. A few small local newsrooms try their best but are constantly looking over their shoulders.
Some think the media crackdown has backfired, at least in the context of the border conflict. Luke Hunt, an Australian journalist based in Phnom Penh, said some Cambodian officials expressed frustration that their side of the story was not getting out. “The slick PR campaign is self-delusional,” said Hunt.
The convenience of AI-generated imagery and the ability to pump out content in other languages will likely only further that delusion.
Liam Cochrane is a journalism lecturer at the University of Melbourne’s Centre for Advancing Journalism. He is a former managing editor of the Phnom Penh Post and a former Southeast Asia correspondent for the Australian Broadcasting Corporation.
This article is part of a special series on media freedom in Southeast Asia to mark this year’s Southeast Asia Oration by Nobel Peace Prize winning journalist Maria Ressa, hosted by Asialink and Asia Institute, University of Melbourne, on August 28, 2025. It is republished here with kind permission.
