Thai-Cambodia Border Conflict Masks a Casino Rivalry

The leaked phone clip between Prime Minister Paetongtarn Shinawatra and Cambodia’s former Prime Minister Hun Sen has marked a new low point for her premiership and brought the bilateral relationship to levels not seen since 2011. Meanwhile, the government’s largest coalition partner, Bhumjaithai, has deserted to the opposition, leaving Pheu Thai and its partners scrambling to stabilize the coalition. Pressure will likely mount in the days and weeks ahead as protest leaders seek to mobilize supporters, while the situation with Cambodia shows no signs of improvement.

The complete meltdown in Thai-Cambodian relations is astonishing—just a month ago, ties between the Shinawatra and Hun families were considered almost familial. Hun Sen’s photo showing the rooms where former prime ministers Thaksin and Yingluck Shinawatra once took political refuge attests to this closeness. In April, Paetongtarn made an official visit to Phnom Penh, where she signed a host of agreements and met privately with the Hun family. What, then, explains the sudden and seismic rupture in the relationship between the two families—and the two countries?

A common explanation by analysts is that Cambodian domestic politics is driving the conflict. That is, the Cambodian regime—led by former Prime Minister Hun Sen and his son, current Prime Minister Hun Manet—is politically weak and in need of shoring up popular support. To this end, it has turned to the tried-and-tested tactic of stoking nationalism, seizing on the disputed temples and territory along the Thai-Cambodian border—longstanding flashpoints for antagonism and conflict.

The February 13 incident at Prasat Ta Muen Thom—a disputed ancient Khmer temple—was the first in a series of events that escalated tensions. The confrontation began when a group of military-connected Cambodian housewives sang their national anthem in front of the temple, provoking a verbal altercation with Thai soldiers. Tensions spiraled in the weeks that followed, with a mysterious fire at the symbolic Trimuak Pavilion and a brief firefight at Chong Bok that killed one Cambodian soldier. Soon after, Cambodia filed a case with the International Court of Justice; the phone clip was released; and two border crossings were closed.

But the argument that the Hun Manet government is politically weak—so much so that it would risk jeopardizing its relationship with the Shinawatras—is unconvincing. The Cambodian People’s Party firmly controls parliament, holding 125 out of 130 seats. Elections are also not imminent: commune elections are scheduled for 2027, and the general election for 2028. Opposition critics, though active, are mostly operating from abroad due to harsh political repression inside Cambodia. Trump tariffs are an economic risk, but the World Bank still forecasts 4.0 percent growth for 2025. Aside from long-standing factional competition between the Hun and Tea families, there is little to suggest the regime faces serious political danger.

Another theory, aired recently on Thai news channel PPTV, holds that the root of the conflict is business—not politics. Specifically, it suggests Cambodian casino interests—closely linked to the Hun regime—are pitted against Paetongtarn’s Entertainment Complex bill. If passed, the bill would legalize casino gaming in Thailand and threaten to divert hundreds of millions of dollars annually from border casinos in Poipet, Koh Kong, and even Phnom Penh, where most punters are day-trippers from Thailand. The Poipet casinos alone generate an estimated $500 million annually. The potential loss of this business would be catastrophic, creating a powerful incentive for those interests to want to derail the bill.

From the Hun’s perspective, the bill could even be interpreted as a personal affront. After providing refuge to the Shinawatra family during periods of political turmoil, they are now confronted with a policy spearheaded by the Shinawatras that threatens to drain hundreds of millions of dollars from their political-business network. This could have been mitigated by offering the Hun family and their network a stake in the new Thai casino ventures. Instead, it is possible they were brushed aside in favor of other investors—a slight that may have only deepened the Hun’s resentment.

The business conflict theory is more compelling than the “failing regime” resorts to nationalism narrative. However, it remains difficult to substantiate, and it still stretches credulity to believe the Hun regime would manufacture a border crisis with the explicit aim of toppling the Thai government—thereby derailing the casino bill—all without risking a broader escalation that inflicts more economic harm than the casino business is worth. That risk is already becoming apparent: border closures are disrupting trade, and Thai punters are spooked from crossing into Cambodia. And yet, none of this fully explains the dramatic collapse in the once-remarkably close relationship between the Shinawatra-Hun families—underscoring the opacity of both countries political economies.