During Khmer New Year, the streets of Cambodia overflow with laughter and celebrations. But amid the water guns and powder-throwing, something vital is lost: respect.

I remember walking alone across the street when a hand suddenly touched my cheek, leaving behind a smear of white powder. I turned quickly, startled, searching for the culprit. But the crowd had swallowed him or her. People around me smiled, laughing as if it was all part of the fun.

“It’s tradition,” they say. But it is not, not really.

The True Tradition

Our real Khmer New Year traditions are rooted in reverence. Traditionally, we pause. We do sampeas [saluting by putting palms of hands together and bowing slightly] to each other. We offer gentle blessings and holy water with care, not chaos.

What we see today is not culture, it’s commercialization. What once was meaningful has been turned into a spectacle, often without regard for the other person’s consent or personal boundaries.

This act is not harmless. It comes with consequences.

When “Fun” Becomes Harassment

Touching someone without consent is a form of harassment. During this  time of year, many women resort to wearing raincoats, sunglasses, or even avoiding public spaces altogether, just to feel safe. Why should women have to change the way they dress because some men refuse to change the way they behave?

Cambodia is a conservative, deeply hierarchical society. Traditional gender roles remain deeply ingrained, often positioning men as household heads and decision-makers. These beliefs even appear in most of our official family records. Yet, for all the cultural emphasis on order and respect, many men still don’t understand a simple word: “No.”

In our language, we are taught to soften rejections: “Let me think about it,” or “I’ll let you know.” But we need to start teaching—and accepting—that sometimes, a direct “No” is necessary.

And it must be respected.

My Body, My Choice

I walked through Pub Street in Siem Reap City, avoiding the chaos as best I could. I politely declined when strangers approached with water guns or powder. Most respected it. But one man, clearly annoyed, sprayed me even harder. “If you don’t want to play, then why are you even here,” he snapped. As a tourist who had never celebrated Khmer New Year in Siem Reap, it was normal to miss out on this information.

But that's not the point. The point is this: If I want to return home with dry clothes and makeup intact, that is my decision. And it should be respected.

Nearby, I saw another woman trying to fend off a group of men who were smearing powder on her face. She said, “no” —a polite refusal—but they ignored her. Furious, I grabbed one of the men’s hands and said firmly, “she said no.” They backed off, irritated, but the message was clear.

We should not have to intervene for our boundaries to be respected.

Consent Is Not Optional

Why are women made to feel guilty for defending ourselves? Why are we afraid to say “no?”

This isn’t just a few bad apples. It’s about a system that teaches boys entitlement and calls it tradition. It’s about unlearning the silence we have been taught, and rebuilding from the ground up.

We must raise boys differently, teach children what true respect looks like, and stop normalizing behavior that crosses the line.

Consent and boundary education shouldn’t be left to chance or private households. It should be taught in every classroom across Cambodia. Children must grow up understanding that respect is not optional: It is the foundation of dignity for themselves and others.

It is not too much to ask.

It is basic human decency.