The crackdown left the vast majority of operations untouched.
In the early months of 2026, Cambodia staged what it called a decisive reckoning with its sprawling scam industry — a multi-billion-dollar enterprise built on coercion, fraud, and the suffering of trafficked workers. But when Amnesty International traced what actually unfolded across 86 documented compounds, it found that more than 70 percent had been left untouched, while the thousands of victims displaced by the crackdown were met not with rescue but with detention. The episode raises an older, harder question: whether a government can dismantle an industry it has long been accused of sheltering, and whether international pressure alone is ever enough to compel genuine accountability.
- Cambodia's government declared victory over its scam industry, but Amnesty International found authorities had intervened at fewer than one in three documented compounds by the promised deadline.
- Thousands of foreign nationals — many lured with false job promises, then beaten and forced to work — were reclassified as illegal migrants when the crackdown hit, leaving them detained, unrepresented, and without shelter.
- The country's sole government-approved trafficking shelter is over capacity, and survivors report illness, assault, and no access to legal counsel or their own embassies.
- Rather than being dismantled, many scam operations simply relocated — first within Cambodia, then abroad — with Sri Lanka and Vietnam already reporting a rise in activity.
- Experts warn the industry will persist as long as elite perpetrators remain shielded, with one transnational crime analyst calling the crackdown indistinguishable, from the outside, from a cover-up.
Cambodia's government entered 2026 with a bold promise: the scam industry, a multi-billion-dollar network of fortified compounds run largely by Chinese criminal syndicates, would be eliminated by the end of April. The numbers it cited were striking — nearly 1,500 suspects charged, close to 19,000 foreigners deported, hundreds of thousands more who left voluntarily. Prime Minister Hun Manet declared the effort a success.
Amnesty International saw it differently. Researchers had tracked 86 scam compounds across the country. By April's end, authorities had acted on just 24. The remaining 62 — more than 70 percent of documented sites — showed little or no sign of government intervention, even at locations Amnesty had flagged to officials years earlier. Seven more sites showed evidence of mass releases and escapes rather than coordinated enforcement.
The human cost of the crackdown fell hardest on the workers themselves. Thousands of foreign nationals, many trafficked into Cambodia under false promises of legitimate work, had endured beatings, torture, and sexual abuse inside the compounds. When operations were disrupted, they were left stranded — and the Cambodian state treated them not as victims but as irregular migrants. Amnesty spoke with more than 70 survivors; not one had been officially recognized as a trafficking victim. They were held in overcrowded immigration facilities, charged fees for visa overstays, and denied access to lawyers or consular support. The country's only approved shelter for trafficking victims is already beyond capacity.
The government dismissed Amnesty's findings as a political narrative, insisting that tens of thousands of workers had been rescued and repatriated with care. Officials pointed to arrested ringleaders and prosecuted colleagues as evidence of genuine reform. But researchers who study the industry observed something more familiar: not dismantlement, but dispersal. Compounds that were never raided quietly relocated — first to other parts of Cambodia, then to countries like Sri Lanka and Vietnam, where authorities have since reported a surge in scam activity.
Those closest to the issue remain cautious. The founder of NGO EOS Collective acknowledged this was the largest crackdown Cambodia had ever mounted, but warned that without proper identification and support for victims, the industry retains the desperate, vulnerable workforce it depends on. A transnational crime expert put it plainly: without accountability reaching the elite figures long publicly linked to the operations, the entire effort risks looking, from the outside, like a performance. Whether Cambodia's government will pursue the industry as it reconstitutes itself elsewhere — or whether the crackdown was always more about managing international optics than dismantling a criminal economy — remains the defining question.
Cambodia announced a sweeping crackdown on scam operations early this year, and the government celebrated the results: nearly 1,500 suspects charged, almost 19,000 foreigners deported, another 290,000 who left voluntarily. Prime Minister Hun Manet promised the industry would be eliminated by the end of April. But when Amnesty International examined what actually happened on the ground, the picture looked very different.
Amnesty researchers identified 86 scam compounds across Cambodia and tracked what became of them. By the end of April, authorities had intervened at only 24. Of the remaining 62 locations—more than 70 percent of the sites Amnesty had documented—there was little or no evidence of government action, despite the organization sharing the locations with officials at the end of April and, in some cases, having flagged these compounds for years. Seven additional sites showed evidence of mass releases and escapes. The crackdown, in other words, had left the vast majority of operations untouched.
The scam industry in Cambodia is enormous. Since the COVID pandemic, it has grown into a multi-billion-dollar enterprise, typically run by Chinese criminal syndicates operating out of fortified casinos and specially built compounds that function like call-center offices, employing thousands of workers. Australians alone lost $2.18 billion to scams in 2025, though it remains unclear how many originated in Cambodia. What is clear is that the industry has thrived partly because the Cambodian government has historically been accused of complicity, mounting crackdowns that looked impressive on paper but left the core operations intact.
The most visible consequence of this year's effort has been a humanitarian crisis among the workers themselves. Thousands of foreign nationals, many lured to Cambodia with promises of legitimate employment, found themselves trapped in compounds where they were beaten, tortured, and forced to work. When the crackdown began, they were suddenly displaced—stranded, unable to return home, and facing a government response that treated them not as trafficking victims but as illegal migrants. Amnesty interviewed more than 70 survivors, and none had been officially identified as a trafficking victim by Cambodian authorities. Instead, they were detained in overcrowded immigration facilities without access to lawyers or embassies, charged fees for visa overstays, and left without shelter or support. The country has only one government-approved shelter for trafficking victims, and it is over capacity. Amnesty estimates thousands of survivors have no access to it. Some have reported becoming ill; others have been raped.
When Amnesty presented its findings, the Cambodian government rejected them as a "political narrative" that misrepresented the situation. A Ministry of Interior spokesperson said tens of thousands of scam workers had been "rescued" and sent home with care and in accordance with the law. The government also noted that ringleaders had been arrested and several senior officials involved in the operations had been fired or prosecuted. But experts who study the scam industry see something else happening: not elimination, but reshuffling. Many compounds were not raided; they simply packed up and relocated, first within Cambodia and then to other countries. Authorities in Sri Lanka and Vietnam have reported an uptick in scam operations in recent months.
Ivan Franceschini, who founded the NGO EOS Collective to research the industry and support victims, acknowledged that the crackdown was the largest action Cambodia's authorities had undertaken against scams to date and unlikely to return things to the previous state. But he emphasized a critical flaw: without proper identification and support for victims, the industry retains a desperate pool of people it can recruit. Jacob Sims, a transnational crime expert, noted that the government had largely failed to target the elite perpetrators publicly linked to the industry for years. "Without sending a message of accountability to party-state elites, the whole thing looks from the outside like a cover-up operation," he said. Amnesty's regional director suggested that international pressure—particularly concerns about Cambodia's tourism reputation—was likely the primary driver of the crackdown. As operations disperse and reform into smaller groups, the question remains whether the government will pursue them with genuine intent or whether the industry will simply continue, relocated and renamed.
Notable Quotes
More than 70 per cent of the compounds identified by Amnesty appear to have been bypassed by the crackdown, while ineffective police interventions at other compounds have missed victims and left them facing horrific abuses.— Montse Ferrer, Amnesty International co-regional director
Without sending a message of accountability to party-state elites, the whole thing looks from the outside like a cover-up operation.— Jacob Sims, transnational crime expert
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
If the government charged 1,500 suspects and deported nearly 19,000 people, how can Amnesty say the crackdown failed?
Because the numbers tell only part of the story. Amnesty tracked specific compounds and found that most were never touched. The deportations and charges happened, but they didn't dismantle the infrastructure—the compounds, the networks, the operations themselves.
So the government is just moving people around without actually stopping the scams?
Exactly. Experts call it "reshuffling." The compounds pack up and relocate to other countries. You see the same pattern in Sri Lanka and Vietnam now. The industry adapts; it doesn't disappear.
What about the workers who were deported? Aren't they safer now?
Many of them were trafficking victims—people lured with false job promises who were beaten and tortured. Instead of being identified as victims and given support, they were treated as illegal migrants, detained without lawyers, charged fees, and left without shelter. Thousands have nowhere to go.
Is there any shelter for them in Cambodia?
One government-approved shelter, and it's over capacity. Amnesty estimates thousands of victims have no access to it. Some have reported becoming ill or being raped after being denied shelter.
Why would the government treat trafficking victims as criminals?
It's simpler administratively—and it avoids acknowledging the scale of the problem. Identifying them as victims would require resources, accountability, and admitting the government allowed this to happen in the first place.
Do experts think the crackdown will actually work eventually?
Some say it's the biggest action Cambodia has taken, so things won't return to exactly how they were. But without targeting the elite perpetrators who've been publicly linked to the industry for years, it looks like a performance. The industry will keep operating as long as there's no real accountability at the top.