Art as Resistance in the Critical Refugee Studies Context: Cambodian Son, Kosal Khiev and the Documentary Form in Retheorizing Refugee Politics

 “How do you survive when you belong nowhere?”

–Kosal Khiev, Cambodian Son

Cambodian Son (2014), a documentary directed by Masahiro Sugano, follows the story of Cambodian artist and poet Kosal Khiev, who was born in a Cambodian refugee camp in Khao-I-Dang, Thailand in 1980 after the Khmer Rouge Regime, a Cambodian genocide from 1975-1979. Granted asylum in the United States at two years old, Khiev spent his life growing up in Santa Ana, California. As a teenager, after becoming involved in gang violence, he was convicted of attempted murder at the age of sixteen and served a sixteen-year sentence in prison, which included eighteen months of solitary confinement. Khiev spent nearly the same amount of time of his life imprisoned as he did as a “free” refugee in the United States– both of which can be seen as forms of state violence. After completing this sentence, Khiev was deported back to Cambodia by the United States. Cambodian Son captures Khiev’s journey of reconciling his identity, statelessness, and deportation– moving back to a country he barely knows. Khiev’s true sense of freedom is found through the performance of spoken word poetry. Using the framework of Critical Refugee Studies, particularly by Vietnamese-American sociologist Yến Lê Espiritu and Professor of critical race and ethnic studies Ma Vang, this essay will examine the intersection of art, documentary form and cultural identity in terms of representing the refugee experience. By situating Cambodian Son within a historical context, this paper will also explore the narrative structure of documentary form in retheorizing refugee politics. This analysis further supports how art is used in the forms of poetry, realism, and performance to ultimately reframe the refugee experience, shifting from the narrative of victimhood, to expressions of survival, resilience and independence as both a singular and collective identity in the state of displacement. Khiev challenges the socio-political structures and offers a critique of the humanitarianism structure that continues to marginalize refugees, conclusively demonstrating the power of creative expression in strengthening the refugee experience in the face of diaspora. 

Departures: An Introduction to Critical Refugee Studies (2022), written by a collective of interdisciplinary scholars, conceptualizes the Critical Refugee Studies (CRS) by dismantling state violence and the political and social constructs that limit the refugee through intersectional interventions. It integrates critiques of “law, humanitarianism, and culture” to break down the particular complexities of refugee law and its limitations (Le Espiritu, et al 17). Understanding the historical and modern limitations of refugee law is central to examining how these issues shape Khiev’s narrative in Cambodian Son. 

Yến Lê Espiritu critiques the 1951 Refugee Convention, a legal framework that emerged post World War II, with the objective of protecting refugees. The core principle of the Convention is non-refoulement, which asserts that “a refugee should not be returned to a country where they face serious threats to their life or freedom” as defined by the the UN Refugee Agency (UNHCR). Espiritu argues that this convention has lost its relevance in contemporary politics and is unable to provide the necessary protections for modern migrants. Critical Refugee Studies examines how policies marginalize refugees, worsens situations, and denies them human rights in the context of colonial, state, structural, and legal violence. Espiritu explains that  “the law’s incapacities so as to underscore refugees’ capacious and creative ways of seeking better conditions of living” (Le Espiritu, et al). It can be argued that deportation functions as another form of violence within the legal system, particularly in the United States. The outdated law’s intention to protect refugees does little to support them today. There is a significant disconnect between law and humanitarianism attempts. Khiev’s deportation is not a singular incident, it is a common experience that many migrants experience today. Following the Cambodian Genocide, the United States granted a population of Cambodian refugees to live in the U.S., offering asylum but not immediate citizenship. This left Khiev in a state of limbo, without permanent resident status in the U.S. and Cambodia, he effectively was living in a state of statelessness. Regarding Espiritu’s critique on legal protection, it is important to note that since 2002, “the United States has deported over 1,000 Cambodian American refugees back to Cambodia” (Stanford). This promise of protection is nonexistent for many refugees who are left vulnerable to deportation. Author Vinh Nguyen on Refugee States and CRS in his book Lived Refuge: Gratitude, Resentment, Resilience puts this issue clearly. He writes:  

The mercilessness of deporting refugee subjects betrays the seeming generosity of harboring them from the horrors of war and genocide just a few decades earlier. The worthy recipient of refuge quickly becomes the abject criminal who must be expelled from the body politic. A subtext of historical violence and suffering emerges to implicate the United States as an agent of displacement, not just during ‘foreign’ wars in Southeast Asia but also in American refuge.

This historical framework proves how the legal and political systems intended to protect refugees often deepen this marginalization, aligning with the critiques found in CRS. Scholars like Espiritu and Nguyen understand how state policies not only fail to offer protection, but further exercise displacement that becomes harmful to refugees. Through CRS, we see the need to challenge these legal systems and question who truly benefits from the promise of refuge.

1. Documentary Form: Retheorizing Refugee Politics 

Masahiro Sugano, director of Cambodian Son, is a Japanese diasporic filmmaker based in Cambodia and an integral part of the Cambodian independent film scene. His work has gained mass recognition, including receiving the 2016 “Documentary Award” given by the National Asian American Journalists Association (Masahiro). Following the Cambodian Genocide, filmmaking and art faced tight censorship and restrictions under the Khmer Rouge Rule. In his thesis “New Khmer Cinema,” researcher Andrew Putthirak Hollister explores the impact of Genocide on art and independent filmmaking in Phnom Penh film; “Under Khmer Rouge rule, cinema suffered the same fate as other forms of popular culture—neglected, destroyed, its artists killed” (Hollister). This context further supports the significance of Sugano’s work and contribution to the Cambodian Film Renaissance. Sugano creates contemporary cinema that empowers and gives creative freedom to Khiev in framing his narrative, while also creating a space that recognizes the generational trauma that maintains. His use of documentary form challenges socio-political structures of art and shifts the lens through which Cambodia is depicted on screen. The documentary offers a raw and authentic portrayal of a real Cambodian man, different from the fictional account or Westernized glorification of U.S. intervention that suggests saving these refugees. An example of this can be argued in The Killing Fields (1984); this film tells the tragic story of the Cambodian genocide, however its focus often towards Western journalists (New York Times). The film fails to acknowledge the U.S.'s responsibility for destabilizing Cambodia, rather framing this narrative as a humanitarian tragedy.  

Sugano’s work reflects the evolution of Cambodian filmmaking and challenges the past. Hollister explains “under the PRK regime, however, films were strictly monitored for political censorship and mainstream romance movies became the dominant genre.” The documentary form engages with CRS through countering mainstream, fictionalized, linear narratives. Aesthetic wise, it is important to note Sugano’s how film diverges from conventional storytelling, including fragmented timelines and cutting between moments in Khiev’s life as he moves toward his deportation. Khiev’s linear narrative is fragmented, interrupted by the integration of performances, poetry, music, and interviews with whom he has had a lasting impact on, thus creating a nuanced exploration of the refugee experience and the constant lingering question of uncertainty. The fragmentation can be seen as a reflection of this disjointed reality. As he reconciles with his deportation– moments of hope– such as the opportunity to represent Cambodia at the London 2012 Cultural Olympiad– is juxtaposed with the discouraging reality for refugees, including immigration-related anxiety and problems upon landing in England at the Heathrow Airport. Khiev was placed in a holding cell by British immigration officers prior to his performance. 

The documentary’s style exercises refugee uncertainty through the sudden shifts between dialogue and poetry. Sugano’s aesthetic choices dismantle the singular notion of a refugee story, as explained in CRS. The documentary abandons a directed script and rather captures the events as they play out, engaging with the space of temporality. The multi-faceted refugee experience becomes an authentic engagement of non-linearity. This is supported in an interview with Sugano after the documentary was released with the Dharamshala International Film Festival– he had no script planned and just wanted to capture exactly how Khiev’s life unfolded. Sugano reflects that on the question of form:

There are very few variations within the documentary genre. The format I had for Cambodian Son was the first one. It was the kind of documentary where the filmmaker had to start filming without any particular story; not to mention a good ending. And one would have to film months or often years. The hope is that somehow hundreds of hours of footage will turn into a coherent story in the editing room. It is all about perseverance. I have so much respect and admiration for documentary filmmakers…I also think they are insane and hope I will never have to make another documentary of this kind (Dharamshala).

The relationship between Southeast Asian representation, particularly in art, holds significance in “shining a light on Southeast Asian stories means decentering American imperialism and representing the complexity of being human” (Ong). Sugano’s Cambodian Son disrupts traditional documentary conventions, centering Khiev’s voice, the film challenges dominant narratives and dismantles imperial portrayals of refugees, emphasizing the power of form within the Cambodian diaspora.

2. Kosal Khiev and Cambodian Son 

Kosal Khiev, poet, artist, and activist showcases his raw talent and moving storytelling throughout Cambodian Son. Early in the film, Khiev performs his poem “Why I Write” at a school, sharing his experience with a group of young students. He opens with the line “I write for men, women, and children / Anyone who ever felt alone, / Anyone who ever felt disowned, / I write for the bones buried in a country to call home” (Sugano, Cambodian Son). In this opening performance, the visual hue transitions from color to a black-and-white contrast, conveying the weight and raw truth of his words. The color moves to a gray-scale perhaps as a historical reminder of who influences him to write and the impact from the generations of Cambodian people. This shift in color conveys Khiev’s reflection on displacement and loss, recognizing the collective experience and shared identity. His poetry moves into a form of resistance to the state’s continued marginalization and lack of support, while also asserting his independence as a creative and identity separate from this violence. His rage and call to action emerges when he passionately speaks,  “I wanna unfog their glasses and make em see the sons and daughters they abandoned to be bastards / know that we grow like molasses / I point to the north like Davy Jones compass / just follow the sounds of trumpets and listen up.” Here, Khiev critiques the systemc abandonment of those historically excluded and displaced from belonging in America– “the inner city kids, runaway slaves, and the old.” The interplay of color and gray scale in this moment reflects both contemporary politics and the legacies of historical violence that influence his art, history, and identity. He is able to form a collective identity that confronts the systemic disparities within the system. 

Later in the film at the thirty-eight minute mark, Khiev performs in London “Moments in Between the Nights,” which he shares was written while in state prison. This performance is juxtaposed with scenes of him walking outside by the water while he speaks about his confinement, he reflects on the function of freedom and guilt that will forever follow him. He is forced to reconcile with his trauma and the years there were taken from him: 

I pray for peace / some type of solace but release is six years away / so it's safe to say til that day comes i'll be a vacant body / a hollow tomb forced to witness mans doom / Meanwhile echoes of a life keeps bouncing off my eyeballs / so what is seen seems like a dream / but i'm way off / thats me as a teen / then the scene takes off / whats replace is a face who i can hardly wait to embrace / so much love / but then love slowly fades to hate. 

The visual contrast between the openness of London and the physical state of his incarceration emphasizes the dissonance between Khiev’s reality and existence– while he is free, he will remain imprisoned by the years of systemic oppression and trauma. The psychological void he alludes to in his poem reflect broader themes that emerge in CRS, which scholars identify as the aftereffect of experiencing state violence, where refugees are expected to navigate and assimilate after being left in a liminal space of statelessness. 

Khiev’s performance and the themes of confinement, resilience, and memory engage with the intersection of art and refugee politics. Yến Lê Espiritu and Soo Ah Kwon critique deportation as another form of state violence. This violence mirrors the rejection of refugees as people, experienced by men, women, and children during the Cambodian Genocide. In the article “Iterations of War and Its Literary Counterforces” Kwon explains, deportations represent the “state’s disposal of Cambodian refugees as unwanted criminal aliens without taking their full stories into consideration” (Troeung 107). Khiev’s poetry confronts this erasure and instead centers refugee voices. Framing deportation and incarceration as forms of refugee violence, Khiev’s art aligns with Espirtu’s critique of refugee law and the disparity between humanitarian objects and the reality of those displaced by genocide and war. Khiev’s past confinement is contrasted with these moments of present freedom, reflecting broader problems within the refugee community and legal barriers that limit assimilation and protection. 

Another moment in the documentary that is significant is the visual transition during Khiev’s other performance of “Why I Write” between the stage and the sky:  

Kosal Khiev, “Why I Write” in Cambodian Son (2014)

In this instance, we see how Sugano powerfully conveys a sense of flight and transcendence, even while he reflects on the historical pressures that infringe on these freedoms. Similar to the prior scene discussed– with the shifting colors and outdoor settings while he recites poetry in London– this effect creates a sense of liberation. Yet, the question persists: Is true freedom ever fully attainable for someone in Khiev’s position? How does this freedom manifest?  

This imagery of his physical presence on stage that becomes overlapped with clouds, the sky, and elements suggesting flight creates a dream-like sequence, perhaps bordering on magical realism . The aesthetic choice emphasizes the paradoxical reality of refugee freedom, the unattainable state that is shaped by the scars of state violence and generational trauma. Khiev’s words soar these confines: “Let's get back to these walls / built to separate and generate hate / built to execute and induce waste… / Anyone whoever felt alone… / I write for the bones in a country I call home.” Here, his poetry becomes a sense of reclamation, he redefines what freedom means for himself.  While critiquing the systems designed to exclude and foster discrimination, Khiev simultaneously builds a collective identity, universal to all of the other refugees who are limited by legal violence. By “writing for the bones,” Khiev remembers the lives lost in Cambodian during the Khmer Rouge genocide.  This section of his poem reconciles with hope, acknowledgement of injustices of his people (both the past and present), and suggesting to those like him who share this plight that these limitations will not break them.

Kosal Khiev’s journey spotlights the complexities of the refugee experience. While his story is not singular, his artistic abilities and moving words in spoken poetry capture this experience as a whole. These complexities in the refugee experience all exist within historical, legal, and political forces that continue to create marginalization. Framing Khiev’s story within CRS context, this guides us to understand how Sugano’s documentary is important in reshaping Southeast Asian representation in relation to refugee politics, marginalization, and art. The film captures the lack of humanitarianism in addressing the real lived experience of being displaced. The 1951 Refugee Convention holds little significance today. We see how refugees are still experiencing state violence and oppression generations later. It is critical to recognize how Sugano and Khiev are able to capture the nuanced realities of contemporary refugee lives. Deportation functions as another form of state violence, leaving refugees in a liminal state of statelessness, deconstructing the intention of the promise of refuge. 

Khiev’s story redefines the refugee narrative, emphasizing the relationship between personal identity and systemic violence. His art becomes a space for his own reclamation and functions without bounds, effectively he can reimagine what it means to be free on his own terms, departing from socio-political systems that constitute freedom. Centering Khiev’s voice and integrating spoken word poetry in Cambodian Son creates a new form that reflects the fragmentation and lack of linearity in the refugee experience, thus criticizing the Western representation of becoming a savior-state, failing to recognize their impact on marginalized communities. 

The relationship between personal liberation and structural injustice suggests critical questions about how art effectively functions in retheorizing the refugee experience. Does creative expression sustain the power to legally dismantle these global structures? It is critical to consider how art can reimagine and restructure these state boundaries. How does the emergence of art reframe refugee politics in a broader sense? Ultimately, Cambodian Son challenges us to rethink the dichotomy of refugee freedom– not simply confined by legal borders, but an ongoing process that is formed by resilience, creativity, and collectivism. 

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Cambodian Son. Directed by Masahiro Sugano, Studio Revolt, 2014.

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The Killing Fields. Directed by Roland Joffé, Warner Bros., 1984.

"The 1951 Refugee Convention." UNHCR, the UN Refugee Agency, www.unhcr.org/us/about-unhcr/overview/1951-refugee-convention. Accessed 12 Dec. 2024.

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