SIEM REAP, Cambodia: Cambodian dog meat traders drown, strangle and stab thousands of canines a day in a shadowy but sprawling business that traumatizes workers and exposes them to deadly health risks like rabies.
Khieu Chan bursts into tears when describing a job that haunts him as he goes to sleep: he kills up to six dogs a day, slicing their throats.
“Please forgive me. “If I don’t kill you, I can’t feed my family,” the 41-year-old tells the 10 dogs awaiting their fate in a cage.
A cheap source of protein, dog meat is still eaten in several Asian countries from China and South Korea to Vietnam and non-Muslim communities in Indonesia.
Animal welfare activists say consumption has declined as the region’s middle class has grown — more people own pets, and there’s greater stigma associated with eating dog.
But the brutal trade has flown under the radar in Cambodia where new research shows a thriving business involving roving dog catchers, unlicensed slaughterhouses and many restaurants in cities selling so-called “special meat.”
An estimated two to three million dogs are slaughtered annually in Cambodia, according to the NGO Four Paws, which identified more than 100 dog meats restaurants in the capital Phnom Penh and about 20 in the temple town of Siem Reap.
“It has this massive trade,” says Katherine Polak, a Thailand-based veterinarian who works with the NGO, which recently presented findings to the government.
Officials were “shocked” by the magnitude, she claims.
Motorbike riders criss-cross northern Cambodia trading pots, pans and cookware for unwanted dogs, loading them into a heavy rectangular cage on the back seat and making deliveries to middlemen.
Live specimens fetch $2 to $3 per kilo, incentivizing suppliers to collect as many as possible.
Researchers say the dog meat trade is a public health crisis because it carries potentially infected animals all over the country.
Cambodia has one of the highest incidence rates of rabies in the world and most cases are from dog bites.
The trade also undermines local canine immunization efforts by removing and killing vaccinated dogs.
Unsanitary slaughterhouses have no safety regulations as they aren’t overseen by the government, and workers wear no protective gear.
“I got bitten by a dog but I did not get vaccinated because when I returned it was late at night,” Pring That said in a village in Siem Reap as he cooked dog meat stew with fermented fish paste.
Instead, the 33-year-old cleaned the wound with soap and lemon.
Industrial-scale slaughterhouses in developing countries put some distance between workers and animals.
But the Cambodian dog trade is hands on.
After receiving delivery, shirtless men poke dogs with sticks into holding cages.
They are then hung, strangled with rope, clubbed over the head or drowned in a pit filled with fetid water.
Just after sunrise in a village in Siem Reap, one worker pulled a dog out of a cage and hung it on the branch of a tree near drying laundry.
After gasping for breath for several minutes, it stopped moving.
It was then placed in boiling water to remove fur and chopped into parts.
“On a good day, I kill 10 dogs or 12 dogs,” says former soldier Hun Hoy.
“I also feel pity for them, but I have to strangle them,” the 59-year-old adds.
Suppliers can earn from $750 to $1,000 in a country where wages in garment factories are under $200.
Productivity is crucial.
“It’s faster to hit them,” explains Dara, 30, a collector, trader and butcher.
“I know it’s a sin,” he adds.
Drowning is the preferred method of slaughter a few hours away in Kampong Cham and Kandal provinces.
“By putting them in the cage and drowning them in a pit, we don’t have to hear their cries,” said one woman.
Meat and parts are sold onto restaurants, where they are a popular with day laborers as a barbecued snack or a $1.25 soup.
The psychological trauma to bring cheap meat to the table is immense and those who find a better job take it.
Next to his dog cage in Takeo, Khieu Chan spoke about meeting Four Paws during their investigation of the trade.
In an unconventional twist, they gave him land for farming if he would close his restaurant.
One recent afternoon he helped the NGO gingerly take the sickly dogs out of the cage placed under a tree.
But before they were removed and sent to Phnom Penh for treatment, he knelt by the bars to say goodbye.
He says: “Now you have freedom. You are spared from death.”
‘It’s a sin’: Cambodia’s brutal and shadowy dog meat trade
‘It’s a sin’: Cambodia’s brutal and shadowy dog meat trade
- A cheap source of protein, dog meat is still eaten in several Asian countries from China and South Korea to Vietnam
- An estimated two to three million dogs are slaughtered annually in Cambodia, according to the NGO Four Paws
How TV shows like ‘Mo’ and ‘Muslim Matchmaker’ allow Arab and Muslim Americans to tell their stories
How TV shows like ‘Mo’ and ‘Muslim Matchmaker’ allow Arab and Muslim Americans to tell their stories
- In addition to “Mo,” shows like “Muslim Matchmaker,” hosted by matchmakers Hoda Abrahim and Yasmin Elhady, connect Muslim Americans from around the country with the goal of finding a spouse
COLUMBUS, Ohio: Whether it’s stand-up comedy specials or a dramedy series, when Muslim American Mo Amer sets out to create, he writes what he knows.
The comedian, writer and actor of Palestinian descent has received critical acclaim for it, too. The second season of Amer’s “Mo” documents Mo Najjar and his family’s tumultuous journey reaching asylum in the United States as Palestinian refugees.
Amer’s show is part of an ongoing wave of television from Arab American and Muslim American creators who are telling nuanced, complicated stories about identity without falling into stereotypes that Western media has historically portrayed.
“Whenever you want to make a grounded show that feels very real and authentic to the story and their cultural background, you write to that,” Amer told The Associated Press. “And once you do that, it just feels very natural, and when you accomplish that, other people can see themselves very easily.”
At the start of its second season, viewers find Najjar running a falafel taco stand in Mexico after he was locked in a van transporting stolen olive trees across the US-Mexico border. Najjar was trying to retrieve the olive trees and return them to the farm where he, his mother and brother are attempting to build an olive oil business.
Both seasons of “Mo” were smash hits on Netflix. The first season was awarded a Peabody. His third comedy special on Netflix, “Mo Amer: Wild World,” premiered in October.
Narratively, the second season ends before the Hamas attack in Israel on Oct. 7, 2023, but the series itself doesn’t shy away from addressing Israeli-Palestinian relations, the ongoing conflict in Gaza or what it’s like for asylum seekers detained in US Immigration and Customs Enforcement detention centers.
In addition to “Mo,” shows like “Muslim Matchmaker,” hosted by matchmakers Hoda Abrahim and Yasmin Elhady, connect Muslim Americans from around the country with the goal of finding a spouse.
The animated series, “#1 Happy Family USA,” created by Ramy Youssef, who worked with Amer to create “Mo,” and Pam Brady, follows an Egyptian American Muslim family navigating life in New Jersey after the 9/11 terrorists attack in New York.
Current events have an influence
The key to understanding the ways in which Arab or Muslim Americans have been represented on screen is to be aware of the “historical, political, cultural and social contexts” in which the content was created, said Sahar Mohamed Khamis, a University of Maryland professor who studies Arab and Muslim representation in media.
After the 9/11 attacks, Arabs and Muslims became the villains in many American films and TV shows. The ethnic background of Arabs and the religion of Islam were portrayed as synonymous, too, Khamis said. The villain, Khamis said, is often a man with brown skin with an Arab-sounding name.
A show like “Muslim Matchmaker” flips this narrative on its head, Elhady said, by showing the ethnic diversity of Muslim Americans.
“It’s really important to have shows that show us as everyday Americans,” said Elhady, who is Egyptian and Libyan American, “but also as people that live in different places and have kind of sometimes dual realities and a foot in the East and a foot in the West and the reality of really negotiating that context.”
Before 9/11, people living in the Middle East were often portrayed to Western audiences as exotic beings, living in tents in the desert and riding camels. Women often had little to no agency in these media depictions and were “confined to the harem” — a secluded location for women in a traditional Muslim home.
This idea, Khamis said, harkens back to the term “orientalism,” which Palestinian American academic, political activist and literary critic Edward Said coined in his 1978 book of the same name.
Khamis said, pointing to countries like Britain and France, the portrayal in media of people from the region was “created and manufactured, not by the people themselves, but through the gaze of an outsider. The outsiders in this case, he said, were the colonial/imperialist powers that were actually controlling these lands for long periods of time.”
Among those who study the ways Arabs have been depicted on Western television, a common critique is that the characters are “bombers, billionaires or belly dancers,” she said.
The limits of representation
Sanaz Alesafar, executive director of Storyline Partners and an Iranian American, said she has seen some “wins” with regard to Arab representation in Hollywood, noting the success of “Mo,” “Muslim Matchmaker” and “#1 Happy Family USA.” Storyline Partners helps writers, showrunners, executives and creators check the historical and cultural backgrounds of their characters and narratives to assure they’re represented fairly and that one creator’s ideas don’t infringe upon another’s.
Alesafar argues there is still a need for diverse stories told about people living in the Middle East and the English-speaking diaspora, written and produced by people from those backgrounds.
“In the popular imagination and popular culture, we’re still siloed in really harmful ways,” she said. “Yes, we’re having these wins and these are incredible, but that decision-making and centers of power still are relegating us to these tropes and these stereotypes.”
Deana Nassar, an Egyptian American who is head of creative talent at film production company Alamiya Filmed Entertainment, said it’s important for her children to see themselves reflected on screen “for their own self image.” Nassar said she would like to see a diverse group of people in decision-making roles in Hollywood. Without that, it’s “a clear indication that representation is just not going to get us all the way there,” she said.
Representation can impact audiences’ opinions on public policy, too, according to a recent study by the Institute for Social Policy and Understanding. Results showed that the participants who witnessed positive representation of Muslims were less likely to support anti-democratic and anti-Muslim policies compared to those who viewed negative representations.
For Amer, limitations to representation come from the decision-makers who greenlight projects, not from creators. He said the success of shows like his and others are a “start,” but he wants to see more industry recognition for his work and the work of others like him.
“That’s the thing, like just keep writing, that’s all it’s about,” he said. “Just keep creating and keep making and thankfully I have a really deep well for that, so I’m very excited about the next things,” he said.
