A Maryknoll lay missioner relates the plight of human trafficking victims stranded without documents or resources.
It was one of the usual hot Sunday afternoons in Sihanoukville, the coastal port city in southwestern Cambodia where I serve as a Maryknoll lay missioner, but that day the heat seemed especially harsh, as if echoing the suffering I was about to witness.
As I was preparing for choir practice and the 5 p.m. Mass, I received a text from a Dominican sister with whom I work at St. Michael’s Catholic Church, the only Catholic church in Sihanoukville. She told me that when she had arrived to set up the church for adoration, Mass and choir practice, she found people sleeping inside the building. I was surprised because, just 15 minutes earlier, I had passed through the church and seen nothing out of the ordinary.
I rushed back and I found many young men lying on the cold floor, seeking refuge. My heart ached at the sight. I had to ask them to step outside so that choir practice could begin, but I felt a deep sadness as I watched them quietly gather their belongings and wait outside, tired and uncertain.
After Mass, I learned more about them. The 10 young men, ages 19 to 31, were all from Indonesia. Over a simple meal of fried rice and eggs at a small Indonesian restaurant outside the church gate, they shared their stories. Each was a tale of betrayal and hardship. Recruited with promises of good jobs in Cambodia, they found themselves instead forced into scam operations. Their documents were confiscated and they became trapped, enduring both physical and emotional abuse. One young man showed me an open gash on his head, crusted with dried blood. Most looked malnourished and weary. Only one had a small amount of money; the rest had none, as they had not been paid for their labor. They were all hungry and exhausted, and I felt a wave of helplessness and sorrow as I paid for their dinner, wishing I could do more.
They told me that a ride to the Indonesian embassy in Phnom Penh had been arranged that night for them. But as the night wore on and rain poured down, I learned later, their hope faded. At 11:30 p.m., one of the young men texted me to say their ride had not arrived. My heart broke as I read his message, knowing I had no good answer. They were not allowed inside the church buildings due to government warnings about housing undocumented foreigners — the risk of expulsion loomed over anyone who tried to help. So, as the rain hammered the city, these young men huddled under gazebos in the church yard, exposed to the elements and burdened by uncertainty.
By morning, the young men were even more drained. Wanting to keep them safe, I discreetly brought them to a coffee shop to wait. Taking the bus was impossible, because they had no documents, but with the help of a friend, I arranged a small van to take us all to Phnom Penh. We waited more than five hours in that coffee shop, and we tensed every time someone in uniform appeared. My nerves were raw. I was haunted by the thought that if the authorities noticed, these men could be detained. But by God’s grace, we made it out.
Our final challenge was the slow traffic in Phnom Penh. I prayed silently, feeling the weight of their suffering and my own powerlessness, surrendering the outcome to God. Miraculously, we arrived at the embassy with just 10 minutes to spare. Someone from the embassy came out and ushered the young men inside. As the doors closed behind them, I finally let out the breath I had been holding and whispered a prayer of gratitude, yet I carry the sorrow of their ordeal with me.
This experience was just one among many in recent months. Cambodia has begun raiding scamming facilities in so-called “hot areas” following mounting international pressure. Thousands of people — many of whom are victims of trafficking — have been left wandering the streets with no passports, no money and no shelter. The term “forced scammer victims” is one I learned only recently, but the faces behind the label are now unforgettable to me. Most of these individuals were lured into online scam centers across Southeast Asia by promises of better-paying jobs, only to find themselves trapped in exploitation and misery.
It is heartbreaking to witness the human toll of this crisis up close. In the past few months, I have tried to help a young man from Uganda, another from Sierra Leone, and now the 10 Indonesians. Last month, 10 more people from Ecuador appeared at the church, desperate and afraid. The challenge is relentless. Every day brings new faces, new stories of pain and loss. Thousands are sleeping in the streets outside their embassies, clinging to hope that they might find a way home. The only shelter in Cambodia that helps trafficked victims is overwhelmed and no longer able to take anyone in. Other shelters are paralyzed by the fear of government raids and expulsions.
The authorities have announced their intention to eliminate all scam operations by the end of April, but this push is forcing a mass exodus, turning a crackdown into a humanitarian crisis. These traumatized survivors are left to fend for themselves, abandoned by both the Cambodian government and, in some cases, their own governments.
As I witness their suffering, I am overwhelmed by grief and helplessness. Each encounter leaves a scar on my heart, reminding me that behind the headlines are real people — frightened, traumatized, hungry, and longing for dignity and mercy. Their pain lingers with me, fueling a sorrow I cannot fully express. All I can do is offer what little comfort I have, pray, and remember the call to serve the most vulnerable — to be a source of hope and refuge when it is needed most.
I recall Jesus’ words from the Gospel: “’Amen, I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me.’” (Matthew 25:40)
Featured image: Maryknoll Lay Missioner Thu Tam “T.T.” Hoang (center) befriends 10 Indonesian migrant workers exploited in Cambodia. As the Cambodian government cracks down on scam operations, workers such as these — who had been lured from their home countries by the promise of better jobs — find themselves unemployed, abandoned and far from home. (Courtesy of Maryknoll Lay Missioners/Cambodia)
