Dear readers,
It is only a piece of land. A few hills, a few temples, a boundary marker in the jungle. But for some, it is a matter of honor. For others, an excuse for hate. And for those in power in Bangkok and Phnom Penh, it is—once again—a convenient distraction.
I am not writing to you today from a minister’s office or a summit hall. I am writing from a small street café in Bangkok. The sun is burning, the iced coffee is sweet, and the conversations around me revolve around everything from pork prices to TikTok trends to the rain. Not a word about troop movements. Not a word about patriotism.
And yet, along the main road, the national flag suddenly waves larger than usual. Schoolchildren sing the anthem loudly. On television, documentaries about “our heroes” from the past are running again—as if history were just a film doomed to repeat itself endlessly.
I ask myself: What is the point of insulting a neighbor when your own house is on fire?
Thailand and Cambodia—two countries with the same burdens: poverty, corruption, and a lack of prospects for their youth. And what do their leaders do? They light the old torches again. They speak of “defense” and “pride.” But it is no longer about stone or soil. It is about power. About votes. About the next mandate.
In the eyes of the young soldiers sent to the border, I do not see hatred. I see fear. Exhaustion. And sometimes even contempt for the game being played over their heads.
And I wonder: When will we finally realize that the real enemy does not lurk beyond the border post—but in the indifference toward those truly affected by this conflict? The farmers whose fields are mined. The children whose schools remain empty. The families who have waited decades for reconciliation.
I do not wish for a nation without pride. But I do wish for politics with heart. And with reason. Politics guided not by old scars, but by the hope of a better tomorrow.
Because borders divide countries. But they should not divide our humanity.
Warm regards,
Kilian Borchert