Donald Trump, the “born genius,” tells us that he has, in record time, halted eight bloody wars. One of them is the bitter border dispute between Thailand and Cambodia. With Trump as a proud witness, the two countries’ prime ministers signed a ceasefire in October. But now they are shooting at each other again.
Over the past five days, fighting has taken place in several locations along the 800-kilometer border — including near the unique Preah Vihear temple.
“It is impossible to approach Preah Vihear without feeling that one is entering a landscape created for rituals,” wrote the French archaeologist Bernard-Philippe Groslier in the 1960s. Groslier was a man of refined sensibilities who spent much of his life in Cambodia and wrote several books about his work.
The temple clings to a 550-meter-high cliff with sweeping views in every direction — and a short road to the heavens. The first sandstone block was laid in the 10th century, the last four hundred years later. This was also the golden age of the Khmer Empire. The empire included not only today’s Cambodia, but also parts of Thailand, Laos, and Vietnam.
In 1962, the International Court of Justice in The Hague ruled that the sanctuary belongs to Cambodia and not Thailand. The Thais appeared to accept the ruling, but resentment lay dormant beneath the surface, like a smoldering fire. It is often said that Buddhist countries are more peaceful than others, but Preah Vihear reminds us that Buddhists too can mobilize and take up arms.
The area around the temple has been disputed for generations. In the 19th century, Cambodia became a French protectorate while Siam (modern Thailand) remained independent. The two neighbors agreed on a shared border — roughly. The mapmakers, however, did not always take local realities into account, and Preah Vihear ended up in a gray zone where both sides continued to provoke each other.
The ruling in The Hague was meant to put an end to the dispute, but in the early 2000s the conflict flared up again. After UNESCO decided in 2008 to place the temple on the World Heritage List as Cambodian property, the situation escalated. Soldiers moved in on both sides, and in 2011 the most serious clashes occurred. Artillery shells were fired, at least ten soldiers were killed, and parts of the temple grounds were damaged.
Earlier this year, before the ceasefire was signed, tens of thousands of people on both sides were forced to flee. What happens from week to week depends largely on who rules in Bangkok. For many years, Thailand has been governed by a toxic mix of generals and civilian politicians, and the generals in particular are eager to demonstrate their authority by taking up arms.
For hundreds of years, Preah Vihear has been a pilgrimage site for both Thais and Cambodians. For Cambodians, the place is not only a historical monument but also a spiritual lookout point, where the connection between earth and heaven feels stronger than down on the plain. That is why monks regularly climb up to bless the site, and pilgrims leave incense, lotus leaves, and small notes — all in the hope of protection, health, or better times for their families.
On the Thai side, the feelings are no less strong. Although the temple lies on Cambodian territory, many Thais have an emotional bond to Preah Vihear, which they call Phra Viharn. They too see the site as part of their religious heritage, and Thai Buddhists have for decades traveled to the border to pray. The conflict between the countries was therefore not only about politics, but also about who had the right to steward the sanctuary.
Nowadays, pilgrims and tourists steer clear of the site. But under normal circumstances, Preah Vihear is a sought-after destination. Approaching from the Cambodian side, from the south, we are not met by massive towers like those at Angkor Wat. Instead, we walk through a series of monumental gates (gopuras), connected by stairways and gentle ascents. The temple — and the mountain it stands on — seems designed for a procession leading us ever closer to the heavens.
Preah Vihear is built of warm, gray-brown sandstone and rust-red laterite, with a weathered surface shaped by monsoon rains and sun. The result is a dramatic, almost living texture. The entire complex stretches more than 800 meters, laid out along a straight axis that follows the mountain ridge. At the top lies the sanctuary, the sacred chamber: a low building adorned with dancing apsaras, lotus ornamentation, historical inscriptions, and depictions of the Hindu god Shiva.
Shiva’s strong presence is due to the fact that the temple was originally built as a Hindu sanctuary. But since Buddhism later became the dominant religion in the region, Buddha is also abundantly present.
If we step out on the north side of the sanctuary, the ground suddenly drops away beneath us. The temple ends at a steep cliff, where the plains open in a sheer drop toward Thailand. More than anything else, it is this view that makes Preah Vihear so unique: we feel as though we are standing on the edge of the world.
“Of all the temples in Indochina, Preah Vihear is the one that surprises the most, because it seems thrown out over an abyss,” wrote Philippe Stern, a French art historian, in the 1930s.
There is no shortage of temples in Thailand and Cambodia, and wherever we go, we meet Buddhist monks in their saffron robes. In Thailand, 94 percent of the population is Buddhist; in Cambodia, 97 percent — and both belong to the same “school,” Theravada. So why can’t they keep the peace? Buddha preached non-violence and told his disciples to respect all life.
The answer is that faith and reality follow different paths, not only in Southeast Asia but everywhere.
There is little to suggest that the United States will resume mediation in the conflict anytime soon. Thailand’s government has signaled that it does not want third parties involved. Instead, the country will try to pursue bilateral negotiations with Cambodia. That may be possible, but the risk that the talks will stall seems as great as ever.
For now, no pilgrims can be seen on the roads to Preah Vihear. Only a small number of Cambodian monks — and a large number of Cambodian soldiers — guard the lonely sanctuary in the borderlands of war.
