This chapter synthesises the findings of the previous five chapters, weaving the distinct strands into a cohesive picture of micro-political constitutional contestation in Cambodia. As such, it highlights key themes that have run throughout the empirical cases, including ideas about authority and legitimacy, imposition and legal transplants, processes of translation, and the relationship of constitutions to ideas of order and stability. While drawing on lessons from Cambodia, I emphasise the comparative applicability and insight of the approach, and its associated range of methods. Hence, the chapter also contains comparative references to similar practices in other jurisdictions, focusing primarily (though not exclusively) on jurisdictions in Asia. Rather than striving to provide a comprehensive set of comparison, this section overtly aims to be indicative: drawing attention to instances where existing literature on constitutions has already discussed micro-political contestations without explicitly acknowledging or analysing them as such, and gesturing towards places where a similar approach would elicit new and important insights. Fundamentally, it argues that viewing constitutions in authoritarian regimes merely as ‘shams’ obscures more constitutional reality than it illuminates.

Opening with an anecdote about a political analyst who was admonished – and threatened – in the media by then Prime Minister Hun Sen for having the temerity to publicly question the constitutionality of a government policy, this introductory chapter introduces the reader to one of the central themes of the book – contestation over the ‘ownership’ of the constitution and the right to constitutional interpretation. After an overview of developments in the comparative constitutional studies literature, which highlights the extent to which ‘top-down’ and ‘court-centric’ approaches still prevail, I go on to explain how an approach to micro-political constitutional contestation can help illuminate constitutional practices that might otherwise be left hidden in the shadows. The reader is then introduced to the Cambodia case study: first, through an abbreviated account of Cambodia’s modern political history, and then via a more detailed explanation of the specific factors that have shaped constitutional practice in recent years. The chapter closes with some reflections on methodology and an overview of the structure of the book.

The only chapter to focus primarily on the state, Chapter 3 examines the way in which the Constitution has been understood ‘from above’ by the ruling Cambodian People’s Party (CPP). Specifically, it focuses on the CPP’s weaponisation of constitutional language and process, as exemplified by debates over the protection supposedly provided by parliamentary immunity and by the Supreme Court’s 2017 decision to dissolve the CPP’s primary electoral opponent, the Cambodian National Rescue Party (CNRP). These examples, I argue, provide powerful and prescient examples of the way in which constitutional procedure, rather than being entirely overridden by the government, has in fact been used to undermine what would otherwise be considered some of the key normative contents of the constitutional document. In particular, I suggest, the constitutional language of ‘stability’ and ‘public order’ provide a subtext for the CPP’s reading of the formal Constitution that legitimises – or even necessitates – the overriding of democracy. As such, this chapter suggests that, rather than reflecting an absence of constitutionalism and rule of law, Cambodia can in fact be understood to exhibit characteristics of a ‘thick’ strain of ‘authoritarian constitutionalism’ that is rooted in a privileging of ‘law and order’.

This chapter shows how local lawyers and NGOs have sought to challenge the practice of ‘authoritarian constitutionalism’, including in the courtroom. Yet, even when the courts appear to take centre stage here, the audience and message for courtroom performances are unexpected. This chapter explains that lawyers who articulate constitutionally-framed arguments in high-profile court cases often see themselves as speaking first and foremost to journalists and NGO observers in the gallery, and thus to the local public and international stakeholders to whom those observers in turn report. To the extent that courts play a role in constitutional practice, in other words, they do so as a stage on which contestations can be performed for a wider audience. Hence, this chapter develops a concept of an ‘extended legal complex’, which seeks to capitalise on the ruling party’s desire to maintain at least a semblance of fidelity to the legal process to articulate critiques of alternative interpretations of the Constitution before a national and international audience. The chapter then explains how the Cambodian People’s Party has sought to neutralise this threat to their constitutional legitimacy by politicising the Bar Association, thereby hamstringing the work of activist-lawyers and legally complicating their relationships with local NGOs.

Shifting the focus of constitutional enquiry almost entirely beyond the reach of state institutions, this chapter highlights the extent to which newly imposed constitutional norms have, since 1993, fundamentally challenged understandings of the relationship between religion and politics in Cambodia. Constitutional language, the chapter demonstrates, has come to infuse internal debates within the Buddhist Sangha, where constitutional guarantees of universal suffrage sit awkwardly alongside traditional expectations of monks existing above the corrupting world of secular politics. With the state having declined to intervene, despite requests for it to do so from Buddhist leaders, this chapter shows how the sangha has itself become a site of micro-political constitutional contestation, as many monks have come to understand themselves as having a dual identity as both religious figures and as citizens. Meanwhile, I go on to show, the constitutional extension of the franchise to Buddhist monks coincided with an increased political activism within the sangha, as some monks have interpreted this dual identity as justifying – or even requiring – the adoption of a more ‘engaged’ approach to social- and environmental-justice issues.

Expanding the horizons of constitutional practice further, this chapter shows how the meanings and implications of the Cambodian Constitution – and particularly the mandate it gives the state to protect Cambodian culture and tradition – have been shaped by artists, filmmakers, and performers. The chapter begins by introducing the reader to the Ministry of Culture’s ‘Code of Conduct for Artists and Performers’, which was introduced in 2016. Then, drawing on interviews with a number of artists from around Cambodia, as well as representatives from the Ministry of Culture, I suggest that the Code of Conduct represents a profound and widely shared anxiety about the meaning of modern Cambodian culture and national identity. In negotiating this fraught terrain, Cambodian artists explain how they have either directly challenged or avoided the regulations. In so doing, this disparate group has elaborated its own interpretation of the Constitution, and offered its own definition of the ideas of ‘national culture’ and ‘good traditions’ contained therein. The result is both a micro-level account of constitutional contestation and an exploration of how art, culture, and constitutionalism intertwine, as the artists in question effectively shape the meaning of the Constitution from below, and thus effectively become constitutional actors themselves.

Richard Nixon stimulated the greatest antiwar activity in 1970 with the Cambodian invasion. Massive student protests in the spring grew spontaneously and by fall many campus activists channeled their energy into electoral campaigns. Liberal groups joined them. Government leaders, especially in the US Senate, tried unsuccessfully to restrict the war’s continuation. Leftists and radicals made a splash through the spring New Mobilization demonstrations and with the reemergence of Vietnam Veterans Against the War, but by year’s end the coalition split along ideological lines. By late 1970, mass demonstrations planned by umbrella coalitions were giving way to events conducted by single sponsors. This also reduced the movement’s radical presence. From this point antiwar activism appeared more locally and regionally, even as it retained national impact. Local actions, such as during the national student strike, often appeared and operated without waiting for national coordinating bodies to catch up. Most antiwar events occurred on college campuses and in local communities, not in Washington, DC, and they continued even when the lack of national demonstrations made it appear inactive.

Over the last few decades, the concept of Indigeneity has gained traction in Cambodia and Thailand, partially because of its potential to assist Indigenous Peoples in gaining more control over contested lands and forests. The Cambodian government recognizes Indigenous Peoples and their communal land titles. Since 2009, when a sub-decree was issued for registering Indigenous communities and their lands, dozens of villages in northeastern Cambodia have obtained communal land titles. The government of Thailand, however, does not officially recognize the existence of Indigenous Peoples. Nevertheless, the concept of Indigenous Peoples is gaining support in Thailand. Over the last few years, Indigenous activists in both countries have increasingly engaged in electoral politics. The Cambodia Indigenous Peoples’ Democracy Party (CIPDP) contested the commune and national elections of 2017 and 2018, respectively. In Thailand, Indigenous activists have also become more involved in electoral politics, especially during the 2019 national elections, when the first ethnic Hmong person was elected to Parliament. This Indigenous engagement in electoral politics represents a new strategy to gain more cultural and language rights at the legislative level, as well as tenure over land and other natural resources.

Antiwar protest and debate about morality both increase with the US invasion of Cambodia. The killings at Kent State University unleash protests at numerous Catholic colleges and universities. An increasing number of clergy, religious, and even bishops speak out against the war. Pressure builds on the hierarchy to issue a definitive statement of the morality of the war. At year’s end, the bishops issue their “Resolution on Southeast Asia,” which finally does so.

This case study examines the human rights implications arising from the construction of Cambodia’s largest hydroelectric dam, the Lower Sesan II. As a long-standing initiative intended to dramatically expand access to reliable energy sources within Cambodia, the Lower Sesan II was adopted by and labeled a “key project” of China’s Belt and Road Initiative (BRI). However, project developers and contractors face significant criticism as the construction efforts have displaced Indigenous communities and failed to address environmental reports that projected a substantial disruption to local biodiversity, adverse effects that were later documented by local groups and nongovernmental organizations. Drawing from international, transnational, and domestic sources of law, and interviews with various community stakeholders, this study illustrates how Chinese parties building BRI projects engage with applicable human rights obligations through the example of the Lower Sesan II and discusses the consequences of noncompliance.

From a strategic standpoint, the final years of the American war in Vietnam highlighted a persistent uncertainty over how the conflict would end. Both civil and military leaders wrestled with confusing estimates on the war’s progress. These uncertainties mattered because they influenced the timing of and ways in which US forces withdrew from a war that would not end once the Americans had departed. Despite arguments that General Creighton Abrams had fought a “better war” in Vietnam leading to a military victory, a sense of strategic stalemate hung over these final years. Problems remained in assessing the political aspects of pacification, the staying power of the South Vietnamese armed forces once American troops departed, and the longterm viability of the Saigon regime. By early 1969, Abrams also had to confront political decisions leading to the first withdrawal of US troops, decisions that would pit him against the Nixon administration and bring to the surface grave civil–military tensions. Despite years of effort, a key question remained unanswered as these withdrawals began – how stable would South Vietnam be once Americans departed? Ultimately, these final years left the Americans no closer to answering the question of whether they would achieve “victory” in Vietnam.

This chapter situates the communist victory in the Second Indochina War in the broader context of Third World revolution during the 1970s. It argues that 1975 represented a high-water mark of secular revolutionary activity in the global Cold War, and that the following years witnessed the retreat of left-wing revolutionary politics in the Global South. The period that followed saw the rise of a new model of political organization among Third World revolutionaries that largely abandoned secular progressive ideologies in favor of appeals to ethnic and sectarian identities as the basis of armed revolution. If Vietnamese communist fighters represented the archetype of Third World Revolutionaries in the long 1960s, the Afghan Mujahideen would come to symbolize the revolutionaries of the 1980s.

The chapter provides testimonies of individuals who took part in a genocidal process in order to understand how mass atrocities can take shape across different human societies. Through the analyses of interviews conducted with former genocide perpetrators in Rwanda and in Cambodia, it appears that many of them reported that they participated because they simply followed orders. It thus suggests that obedience to orders strongly influences individual actions during a war or a genocide. The chapter also highlights the key role of other forms of social influence, such as conformity to a group and compliance. However, the interviews reveal that complex additional factors have influenced former perpetrators in their actions, such as elements of coercion, the fear for one’s own life, and hateful propaganda. This chapter illuminatesthe many reasons that can lead a human to perpetrate evil acts.