This op-ed was written by Mei Chann Lao, a former Miss Cambodia and UC Berkeley graduate pursuing healthcare, STEM, and innovation. Through her efforts — in public engagement, advocacy, and representation — she seeks to empower marginalized communities and create positive impact. She is a role model for young Asian Americans, and her message of authenticity, resilience, and empowerment resonates widely.
On December 14, I stood outside Long Beach City Hall in Cambodia Town — home to the largest Cambodian diaspora outside of Cambodia — surrounded by elders, families, youth, and community leaders who had gathered peacefully to call for unity and peace. We held signs quietly, waved Cambodian flags, and stood shoulder to shoulder, not in opposition to one another, but in affirmation of shared values rooted in dignity, resilience, and care for our people.
For me, being there was not symbolic. It was necessary.
A long-standing territorial dispute along the Cambodia–Thailand border has erupted into renewed military clashes. In October 2025, international partners, including the United States, stepped in to call for an immediate ceasefire and de-escalation between Cambodia and Thailand.
The peace has since collapsed, and renewed military assaults, including artillery fire and airstrikes, have displaced hundreds of thousands of civilians, caused loss of life, and created urgent humanitarian needs.
For many Cambodians, the conflict cuts far deeper than territorial lines — it feels like the beginning of cultural erasure. Reports of airstrikes at UNESCO-recognized heritage sites and ancient temples have sent shockwaves through the community, where these spaces are sacred repositories of heritage, culture, and history. When temples, places meant to endure beyond generations, are threatened by violence, this is how erasure begins: not all at once, but through the loss of what a culture holds sacred.
Many Cambodians in Cambodia and across the world in the diaspora have felt a growing responsibility to call for peace, justice, and sovereignty.
As a first-generation Cambodian American, I carry both history and responsibility; I am a product of intergenerational Khmer history. Cambodia Town is not just a neighborhood — it is a living archive of survival, healing, and intergenerational strength. Many in our community are descendants of genocide survivors. Others are refugees, immigrants, or first-generation youth raised in Long Beach. To gather in that space, publicly and peacefully, was to honor our past while affirming our commitment to a future shaped by compassion and unity.
Growing up, my parents told stories of what it took to rebuild Cambodia from the ashes of genocide. 50 years ago, peace was not guaranteed. It had to be imagined and rebuilt. While the past has shown the world that Cambodia can be rebuilt from ashes, the present demands the courage to protect it and to build it again — louder, braver, and together.
This is where soft power becomes essential.
For smaller nations like Cambodia, influence does not come from dominance or volume. It comes from how our people show up in the world, through culture, community, and heart. Soft power is how Cambodia’s story is carried beyond borders, especially in moments when our voices risk being overlooked. It is built through presence, service, and consistency, and it lives most visibly within diaspora communities who carry both heritage and global perspective.
I attended the rally not only as a community member, but also as a public figure who understands that visibility carries responsibility. For me, pageantry has never been about spectacle. It has been about presence — simply showing up matters. Standing peacefully, listening deeply, and allowing connection to lead becomes a form of representation in itself.
Serving as a cultural ambassador for Cambodia has allowed me to rethink what leadership looks like, particularly for countries like Cambodia whose impact is often measured unfairly against larger powers. Power does not come from being flawless or impressive; it comes from humanity. From owning emotion, rising after adversity, and choosing to keep going. In this way, leadership is not about balance, but about becoming — shaped by resilience, empathy, and purpose.
What moved me most that afternoon was the intergenerational presence. Elders stood quietly beside young people who may not yet fully understand the weight of history, but who are inheriting its consequences. In that shared space, I saw not fear or anger, but resolve. A belief that unity and peaceful civic engagement remain among our strongest tools.
The rally ended without fanfare. People dispersed calmly, returning to their lives with a renewed sense of connection. But the impact lingered. In Cambodia Town, peace was not demanded through noise. It was affirmed through presence.
For Cambodia, moments like these matter. They remind the world that even smaller nations have voices — not because they are loud, but because they are rooted in humanity. And for those of us in the diaspora, showing up is how that voice is carried forward.
