A Conservation Conundrum in Cambodia

Could you knowingly disrupt the illegal livelihood of your neighbour? Friend? Family?

Chris Iverson
Southeast Asia
4 min readJun 18, 2023

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Community members displayed their catch of the day, removing 37 snares in one area. Motorbike brake cables are often the tools of the trade for many hunters.

For many on the front line of community-led conservation efforts across Cambodia, this question is the harsh reality of life. Disrupt the economic activities of your loved ones or disengage and watch as someone else tries to.

Due to decades of rampant deforestation and hunting, Cambodia is not known for its abundance of wildlife. There are however still pockets of protected areas in the country that harbour a rich biodiversity of flora and fauna. Keo Seima Wildlife Sanctuary (KSWS) in the Northeast frontier province of Mondulkiri is one such place.

A sanctuary for over 1000 recorded species, including the world's largest population of yellow-cheeked crested gibbons and the critically endangered black-shanked douc langurs. These two charismatic primate species depend on this protected forest for their survival.

For nearly a millennia, Mondulkiri has been home also to the Bunong people, who make up Cambodia's second-largest indigenous group. With 20 communities in and around the 300,000-ha protected area, the Bunong are at the forefront of collaborative conservation efforts between government bodies and international non-government organisations.

The team remove a snare along a fence line.

A 2022 survey by the Wildlife Conservation Society (WCS) in KSWS found that most terrestrial animal species are declining in number due to the endemic level of snaring, hunting with dogs and habit loss from human encroachment. Once common mammals such as wild boar and muntjac deer now only number in the hundreds inside the park. Suffering a drop in population of around 60-80% in the last 12 years

Empowering local indigenous communities to patrol their ancestral land in the name of conservation is one initiative championed worldwide. But what happens when members of the same community engage in illegal hunting, trapping, logging or land clearing? Giving new meaning to knowing and understanding your enemy.

“I’ve told my family, if they lay any snares or traps here I’m going to remove them from the forest” — Community patrol member, Klun Ta

This is the moral dilemma for many forest-based communities. A lack of livelihoods and economic opportunities forces the hand of some individuals to engage in the illegal extraction of these natural resources. Coming into conflict with those that seek to protect and preserve can lead to the fracture of these once cohesive communities.

The claw of a red jungle fowl caught in a snare. The wild cousin of our domestic chicken and a high target of hunters.

Community patrol groups can be funded through a variety of initiatives, whether it’s revenue from local ecotourism sites that offer wildlife-watching and nature-based tours or from the sale of carbon credits to multi-national corporations with the help of conservation NGOs.

The individuals that join the patrols use their knowledge of the forest and the terrain, going out multiple times a week to act as a deterrent. A common method from hunters is a snare fence line made from cut branches, sometimes hundreds of meters long, which is used to funnel wildlife through gaps every couple of meters with a snare set in waiting. Indiscriminate in its nature, a snare is a land mine for any unsuspecting wildlife that crosses its path.

“Our elders used to hunt with crossbows or guns left over from the war. This required skill and patience, something only a handful possessed in each community. It was selective hunting. Now, anyone can leave a line of snares in the forest and catch all sorts of animals and birds” — Community patrol member, Pjel Vy

Lush semi-evergreen forest of KSWS

Quite often we forget to think about the individual laying these snares as a husband, son, or father — quick to paint them as a monster with a complete disregard for the natural world. We don’t know what social or economic pressures have led them to enter the forest with the intention to set 37 snares along a fence line.

Only by engaging with these individuals, building trust and creating dialogue can we offer an alternative. More often than not, it is utilising this communal knowledge, quite often passed down through the generations, that can be a catalyst for change.

Names have been changed in this story to protect the identity of individuals

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Chris Iverson
Southeast Asia

Six years living in Cambodia's wild Northeast frontier, Mondulkiri province | Working in Community-based Ecotourism | Sharing stories, experiences & views