Opinion: Nationalism is not Noise, it is Discipline

Opinion: Nationalism is not Noise, it is Discipline

A farmer tends his rice field in Takeo province. Supplied

This morning in Takeo, a man was sowing seeds in his field, with his feet sunk deep in the mud. The sun was only just rising. He said nothing. No distractions. Just the slow, steady rhythm of someone doing what needs to be done, for his family, for his land.

He was focused. Present. Not loud. Not angry.

But that is also nationalism.

True love for Cambodia does not always wear a flag or raise its voice. Sometimes, it wears old clothes, walks quietly and carries a hoe. Sometimes, it bleeds in silence, serves without being seen or teaches children in classrooms without fans. In this moment, as our nation still breathes the smoke of war and counts the cost of grief, we must ask ourselves honestly: what kind of nationalism do we need now?

Not the kind that shouts only to be heard.

Not the kind that spreads division.

Not the kind that waits for a crisis to wake up.

What we need is a nationalism that rises before dawn, stands through storms and builds with the kind of discipline that doesn’t ask for applause, but only results. One that remembers the pain of being belittled, and carries that memory not as anger, but as fuel to rise, every single day.

And yet, that pain sometimes spills over. We shout, not because we do not love our country, but because we do. Because we have been mocked, looked down upon, accused without proof, denied the right to defend what is rightfully ours. Our temples, our land, our history – spoken of as if they were never ours. And when we try to speak, we are told to be quiet. This anger is real. It is earned.

While our soldiers remain stationed at the border, enduring rain and exhaustion, many others are defending Cambodia in a different way: online, behind screens, in comment sections and on livestreams. They are not doing this out of hate, but out of pain – because they see how Cambodia is misrepresented, disrespected, slandered and silenced. In those digital spaces, they stand up. And in doing so, they remind the world: Cambodia today is not who they try to say we are.

But even as we speak out, we must ask: what will we build from this pain? Will we let our frustration consume us, or will we turn it into strength, into unity, into something no one can ever dismiss again?

Voices matter, yes. But voice without action is an echo. And echoes fade. Cambodia needs builders, not just commentators.

And building takes all of us. Not everyone holds a hoe. Some hold books. Some lead offices. Some guide young minds. Some wear uniforms, others wear the patience of everyday life. But whatever our role, if we claim to love Cambodia, let it be shown in what we build, not what we boast. We must rise above those who speak falsehoods, fuel hatred or hope we get divided. Let us be better, not louder. Stronger, not angrier. Let our discipline speak louder than their doubt.

Because anger alone is not enough. Left alone, it burns out. But shaped by discipline, it becomes a tool for justice. Let our frustration not divide us, but drive us, to prepare better, educate more and support each other more fiercely than ever before.

Nationalism is not a volume. It is a practice. And the people who will make Cambodia stronger are not the ones shouting the most; they are the ones working the hardest.

Let us learn from the man in the rice field. He is not waiting for others to tell him when to start. He is not afraid of the mud. He is planting seeds that will feed others long after the shouting has stopped.

That is how a nation rises: not in noise, but in rhythm. Not in reaction, but in responsibility.

Let us be that generation, the one that finally understands: To love Cambodia is to defend it in war when called, and to build it in peace when given the chance. It is to work, to wait and to never give up.

Because peace is not weakness. It is preparation. And dignity is not silence, it is strength held steadily, quietly and unmistakably. Just like truth. Just like the sun.

Meas Sopheak is a citizen of Cambodia and a doctoral student at Nagoya University.

The views and opinions expressed are his own.
The Phnom Penh Post