Cambodia’s newsrooms are struggling to reflect the voices and experiences of the nation they cover, with women making up a tiny fraction of the country’s journalists and press freedoms under increasing pressure from political controls and legal crackdowns — a reality that quiets half the population’s perspective just when diverse reporting is most vital to democratic life. In Phnom Penh and provinces alike, the newsroom seat remains largely a male domain, with women journalists accounting for roughly 10–13 percent of the country’s nearly 9,000 registered reporters, entrapped between social barriers, gender-based harassment, and a media environment where free expression is constrained by law and practice.
Despite Cambodia’s Neary Rattanak gender equality framework — a state-led initiative meant to promote women’s participation across sectors — the stark gender imbalance in journalism persists. Women aspiring to tell stories of khmer families, land rights, or sokha (peace and dignity) often face dismissive cultural norms that relegate them to “softer” beats and away from political or investigative reporting. Female journalists report frequent discrimination, from online abuse to inappropriate comments during field assignments, with little institutional protection or gender-sensitive policies in place at news outlets.
In rural areas, where social norms are more conservative and chbab srey (traditional teachings about womanhood) still influence expectations, many families discourage daughters from careers that take them “out into the world,” especially when those careers involve confronting power. Consequently, even as Cambodia has nearly 10,000 journalists on the books, the professional landscape skews heavily male and discourages diversity in pormean (news).
The gender gap isn’t just a numbers problem; it carries political weight. Women journalists bring nuanced perspectives to issues like gender-based violence, economic inequality, and human rights, yet their underrepresentation means these topics are often underreported or framed without lived insight. Groups like the Cambodian Female Journalists’ Network and the Women’s Media Centre of Cambodia have been pushing for gender-sensitive safety training, mentorship programs, and editorial opportunities to better include women’s voices.
The general context of restricted civic space complicates the work of women journalists even further. Online, many face technology-facilitated gender-based violence, ranging from sexist trolling to threats that dissuade them from public engagement — a phenomenon that dovetails with broader barriers women face in Cambodian society.
Yet there are tettei tang (signs of resilience). Civil society groups, regional media unions, and local associations continue to advocate for safer, more inclusive newsrooms and for legal reforms that protect journalists and citizens alike. Their work underscores that a vibrant press — one that includes women’s voices and protects reporters from harassment and arrest — is essential for transparency and accountability in a country marked by neak mean (political power).
In the end, Cambodia’s media landscape today is defined by tension: an urgent need for diversified, representative reporting and a political environment where that reporting is fraught with risk. Women journalists, in particular, stand at the intersection of gender inequality and restricted expression, advocating for space not just to exist in newsrooms but to shape the narratives that define Cambodia’s evolving story.
When I look at the photos of workshops organized by NGOs to train bright young women clutching their notebooks and dreams, I feel a mixture of pride and pure, unfiltered worry. Pride because Cambodian women are stepping up, daring to claim space in an industry that still treats them like ornamental krama scarves — decorative, but not essential. Worry because the system they’re entering is still built by men, for men, and policed by men who panic the moment a woman starts asking real questions.
Let’s be honest: journalism in Cambodia has never been for the faint-hearted. Even the bravest neang srey have to navigate newsroom sexism, the ever-watchful eye of the state, and a digital landscape where trolls (usually hiding behind an anime avatar and two brain cells) harass any woman who dares speak. And when these women turn their eyes to corruption, land grabs, or violence against women? Suddenly, the laws become stricter, and the message is clear: “Stay quiet, darling. Let the men handle the truth.”
Auntie rejects that. Because what happens when women are absent from the newsroom? Stories shrink. Reality is filtered through the same old patriarchal lens. Violence against women becomes “family issues.” Wage inequality becomes “women’s choice.” Harassment in factories, unsafe migration, teenage pregnancies, environmental devastation — all get flattened into apolitical human-interest fluff instead of the sharp, incisive journalism Cambodia desperately needs.
Women journalists bring something men alone cannot: empathy sharpened into analysis, lived experience translated into accountability, and an instinct for truths buried under layers of silence. In a country where chbab srey still whispers that women should be patient, obedient, and quiet, every Cambodian woman who picks up a microphone is committing an act of courage.
So here’s my message to the fierce young women of Cambodia: keep going. Keep studying, and reporting. Keep asking the questions that make powerful men sweat. Your presence alone is dismantling decades of patriarchal nonsense. And when you shine, you light the path for thousands more.
Auntie is cheering for you — loudly, unapologetically, and with zero chill.