In a world still grappling with the legacies of forced migration and religious persecution, new academic research is revisiting one of Southeast Asia’s lesser-known tragedies — the complex fate of the Cham people of Cambodia and Vietnam. The presentation, titled “Muslim Minority in Vietnam and Cambodia: Coping with Discrimination”, by scholar Vadim Atnashev (North West Institute of Management, RANEPA, and St Petersburg State University), and currently a Researcher at the Exeter University, was presented at a recent international conference hosted by the University of Exeter Law School and co-organized by Fundación Mejora, a UN ECOSOC-recognized foundation known for its advocacy in the fields of religious freedom and minority rights.
Atnashev’s paper offers a piercing analysis of how the Cham, an ethnic and religious minority with roots in the ancient kingdom of Champa (in present-day Vietnam), became both a community in refuge and later, a community devastated by genocide. The Cham, primarily Muslim, fled into Cambodia following Vietnamese conquests in the 15th and 19th centuries. But their path toward safety turned tragically full circle when they became targets of extermination under the Khmer Rouge regime in the late 1970s.
“The history of the Cham people in Cambodia is not simply a story of displacement. It is a story of becoming both invisible and vulnerable,” Atnashev writes. He describes how this vulnerability was not only political or religious, but profoundly structural: the Cham never fully integrated into Cambodian society nor maintained strong ties to their Vietnamese homeland, leaving them in a kind of historical and political limbo.
Division Within Cham People
One of the paper’s most striking contributions is its conceptualization of the Cham not as a singular, cohesive community, but as “a divided people.” Drawing on historical records, anthropological research, and interviews with community members, Atnashev explores how geographic dispersal, differing experiences of colonialism (under both French and Vietnamese rule), and varied responses to Islamic influence contributed to internal fragmentation.
The Cham who remained in Vietnam followed a somewhat different path from those who fled to Cambodia, with differing religious practices (many Vietnamese Cham communities retained more syncretic forms of Islam or Hindu-Muslim blends) and political alignments. These divergences deepened in the 20th century. As the paper notes, “This split not only limited solidarity among Cham communities, but also weakened their political visibility.”
From Refuge to Target
Perhaps the most harrowing part of the paper focuses on the fate of the Cambodian Cham under the Khmer Rouge (1975–1979). While Pol Pot’s regime targeted many groups, the Cham suffered disproportionately. Estimates suggest that nearly half of the Muslim population in Cambodia was killed. Atnashev underscores that the Cham were targeted not just for ethnic reasons, but specifically for their Islamic identity.
“Unlike other groups, the Cham were attacked in part because of their religion — their mosques destroyed, Qurans burned, and their rituals forbidden,” the paper states. Atnashev argues that this campaign amounts to religious genocide, a distinction still not formally recognized in most international frameworks dealing with the Cambodian genocide.
The Role of Silence
Atnashev is also critical of what he calls the “double marginalization” of the Cham — first by the Khmer Rouge, and later by the international community and the post-genocide Cambodian state. Their suffering, he writes, was “subsumed under broader narratives of class struggle and ethnic cleansing, rather than examined as a unique case of religious persecution.”
This silence, the paper argues, has had consequences. It has hindered reconciliation efforts, stymied justice for victims, and allowed the Cham’s historical erasure to continue. Today, many young Cham in Cambodia know little of what their ancestors endured — a gap that scholars like Atnashev hope to help bridge.
A Platform for New Awareness
The Exeter conference, co-organized by Fundación Mejora, provided a timely platform to bring this discussion into broader academic and policy conversations. The presence of religious freedom advocates, legal scholars, and UN-affiliated organizations lent the paper added relevance, particularly at a time when minority protections are again under strain in parts of Europe and Asia.
Representatives of Fundación Mejora praised the research for its “methodological rigor and ethical urgency,” noting that it provides a model for examining how religious identity intersects with structural violence and historical neglect.
Looking Ahead
Atnashev’s work, while rooted in historical analysis, ends with a forward-looking call to action. He urges greater inclusion of the Cham experience in transitional justice mechanisms and educational curricula, not only in Cambodia but in international discourse.
“The Cham remind us,” he writes in his conclusion, “that genocide can happen in silence, that minority communities can be erased not just by bullets but by forgetting. Recognizing them today is not merely an act of memory, but one of justice.”
In an era where cultural erasure and religious persecution remain urgent global issues, this paper is a powerful reminder that the past, if left unacknowledged, can cast long and dangerous shadows.
