Between Return and Waiting: Cambodia’s Displaced Caught on the Thai Border

Nearly half a million Cambodians have already made their way back to their villages, yet more than 159,000 people remain in limbo—caught between the fear of past fighting and the uncertainty of a lasting return along the border with Thailand.​

A massive, but unfinished return

According to the Ministry of Interior, around 490,000 of the more than 640,000 people displaced by the recent border conflict have already returned to their communities of origin, following a new movement of 1,880 returns recorded on Tuesday morning.However, 159,592 people remain in displacement camps, including 83,249 women and 51,997 children—a particularly vulnerable population facing overcrowding, lack of services, and heightened health risks.

Authorities point out that some households, although authorized to return to their villages, were forced to leave again for temporary centers after discovering their homes destroyed or their land contaminated by unexploded ordnance left behind by the Thai army.This forced mobility—driven by ongoing security assessments and demining operations—extends an internal exile that, for some families, began in the very first hours of the fighting.

Voices from the camps: fear, exhaustion, and hope

In the emergency camps set up in the provinces of Banteay Meanchey, Oddar Meanchey, Preah Vihear, and Battambang, daily life unfolds beneath plastic tarpaulins and tin roofs, punctuated by aid distributions and announcements of new return convoys.

“At night, I sleep badly. I think about the shells that fell near our home,” confides Sreypov, a mother of three sheltering at a site near Samraong, who says she keeps her bag packed at all times “in case we have to leave again.”

Others waver between impatience and caution.

“If the government says my village is safe, I will go back to rejoin my family, because life here is not as easy as at home,” explained Meun Saray, sheltering under a tarp in a muddy field during the first days of the crisis.

A few tents away, Seun Ruot admitted her fear of returning too soon: “I really want to go home, but I don’t dare yet. I prefer to wait today or tomorrow to see how the situation develops.”

Testimonies gathered by humanitarian NGOs also speak of pregnant women worried about giving birth in overcrowded camps, elderly people separated from loved ones, and children who startle at the slightest sharp noise—signs of a lingering trauma that goes far beyond the question of shelter alone.

The State on the front line for a “safe and dignified” return

Faced with this prolonged crisis, government spokesperson H.E. Pen Bona insists that authorities are mobilizing all levels of the administration to support displaced people, particularly those deemed able to return safely to their villages.“Competent authorities” have been tasked with facilitating returns “as quickly as possible,” while taking into account security conditions, livelihoods, and the overall well-being of the affected families.

For those still unable to return, the government says it is maintaining close oversight in designated centers, through a coordinated system involving the Ministry of Interior, the Ministry of Defense, provincial authorities, and the National Committee for Disaster Management.

At the same time, a special committee has been established to oversee the rehabilitation of damaged infrastructure, the restoration of livelihoods, and the coordination of demining operations in the most affected areas—a non-negotiable condition for a sustainable return.

In districts gradually declared secure, schools, hospitals, health centers, and other public services are reopening in stages, offering returning populations an initial sign of normalization, even though access to water, electricity, and markets remains highly uneven from one village to another.

NGOs, the Red Cross, and donors: a humanitarian chain under strain

On the ground, a mosaic of humanitarian organizations and international partners complements state action, in a coordination that is sometimes improvised but often decisive.The Cambodian Red Cross is increasingly managing internal camp logistics—registration, prioritization of vulnerable households, care for the lightly injured—while NGOs such as World Vision, Caritas, and UN agencies install latrines, water tanks, tents, and spaces dedicated to psychosocial support.

Recent reports mention dozens of latrines built, thousands of non-food kits distributed (mosquito nets, blankets, mats), and mental health awareness sessions bringing together more than a thousand people—clear evidence that needs extend far beyond emergency food aid.

Yet despite urgent appeals to donors, funding is still considered insufficient by several NGOs, which warn that the transition phase—between camp life and return—risks becoming the most fragile if resources dry up too quickly.

In the corridors of a makeshift health center, Sokchea, a displaced father, sums up the dilemma: “They tell us the ceasefire is holding, but our village no longer has a school or a market, and there are talks of unexploded bombs in the rice fields. How can we resume a normal life under these conditions?”

This question echoes through many households that fear exchanging the relative safety of the camps for a silent precariousness back home, without guarantees of long-term support.

A conditional return: security, services, dignity

Phnom Penh’s stated priorities are clear: maintain the ceasefire, allow all displaced civilians to return home, restore essential services, and revive livelihoods.But implementation promises to be long and technically complex, with dozens of villages still inaccessible, homes razed, farmland mined, and families burdened by weeks without income.

Humanitarian actors are calling for a “safe and dignified” return, grounded in transparent information for communities, guaranteed minimum access to water, health care, and education, and targeted support for the most vulnerable—particularly women-headed households and separated children.Over the longer term, the current crisis raises an even heavier question: how to sustainably strengthen the resilience of these border areas, repeatedly exposed to tension, so that the next ceasefire does not once again trigger the displacement of hundreds of thousands of lives left hanging in uncertainty.