‘A first mistake is a last mistake': The delicate art of clearing landmines

Telegraph

05-03-2025

In a forest clearing just a few miles from the Thai border in Cambodia, around 30 men and women set a plastic table with floral bowls and metal spoons. Seconds later, lids of Tupperware in all shapes and sizes are prised open and shared around. Bowls fill with dried fish, pork-stuffed marrows, steaming sticky white rice, spinach and chicken stew.
It's 6.30am and the sun has slowly been rising from behind the Cardamom Mountains framing the breakfast scene in a clearing of rice fields. But this is no ordinary picnic. A few feet ahead of the table, large red metal signs screaming 'demining site' have been propped up against fronds of plants swaying in the golden light.
At this site in Ou Choam Kraom village, deminers with the Mines Advisory Group (MAG), a charity that finds and clears mines in places of conflict, are about to begin meticulously clearing the land of deadly remnants from four decades of war. Hazardous unexploded munitions remain embedded in the landscape more than 20 years after the conflict ended.
After eight years of brutal civil war, which ended in 1975, the Maoist-inspired Communist Khmer Rouge seized power in Cambodia. They began a reign of terror that wiped out up to a quarter of the population through genocide, starvation and forced labour. The Khmer Rouge were ousted in 1998, but Cambodia's suffering didn't end there. Decades of successive conflict continued and left the country littered with landmines and unexploded ordnance (UXO).
'I can still hear the gunfire now. At night, it echoed through the trees. It was constant', Kang, a 58-year-old war veteran, tells The Telegraph. He fought against the Vietnamese in the late 1980s, stationed alone in a forest near the Thai border. 'The jungle breathed with me,' he says. 'Just me and the insects – no one else. Not even women,' he adds with a laugh.
Cambodia's contamination stretches over 435 square kilometres in ten provinces. However, this is a marked improvement on the situation of only a few years ago, when an estimated 10 to 20 million landmines still lay in the ground across the country. Roughly one-third of these are still active and unexploded.
These lethal remnants, planted by warring factions to defend territories or control populations, have outlasted monsoons, droughts and years of political upheaval. In soil stained by the legacy of genocide, they now exact their toll on farmers, children and families trying to rebuild, claiming lives and limbs long after the fighting ceased.
In a remote village in Siem Reap province, two toddlers, Muo Lisa and her cousin Thum Yen, were killed when a rocket propelled grenade that probably lay undiscovered for over 25 years exploded near their homes, an official said last month. Their parents had been working the land, unaware that the soil beneath them concealed remnants of past battles.
The incident was a grim reminder that, despite years of demining efforts, Cambodia's battle with its past is far from over. In January, two Cambodian deminers were killed while trying to remove a decades-old anti-tank mine from a rice field and a villager died in a landmine blast on his farm.
Yet for weeks, the deminers who might have prevented such tragedies had been left twiddling their thumbs. Washington's abrupt decision to freeze all foreign aid at President Donald Trump's command forced Cambodia's clearance operations into paralysis. Last week, the US granted a conditional waiver, allowing some work to resume, but the damage had been done. NGOs scrambled for alternative cash and operations across Southeast Asia, including some of MAG's, ground to a halt.
Since 1993, America has poured over $5 billion into global mine clearance, including $750 million in Southeast Asia alone. Now, it had nearly torpedoed the very efforts it helped create. Sok Eysan, spokesman for the ruling Cambodian People's Party, previously told The New York Times that it was within the US president's rights to cut funding but added: 'Who created the wars which left these countries with landmines? Everyone knows.'
Britain has also slashed aid spending, a move MAG said 'will have devastating consequences for millions of people affected by conflict, poverty and insecurity, and comes at a time when humanitarian support is needed more than ever'.
While today's demining operations are highly sophisticated, Kang remembers previous riskier approaches. Jabbing the air with his finger, he describes with a shy smile how he used to stab at mines with sticks – or even his bare fingers – to detonate them in the jungle.
The crude technique backfired one day, sending shrapnel tearing through his leg, resulting in its near-instant amputation. Now, hobbling in the safe zone of the minefield, Kang explains how his prosthetic leg is made entirely of plastic to avoid interfering with metal detectors. He is one of five disabled deminers working for MAG in Battambang province.
Breakfast plates are cleared away as quickly as they are laid out. At 7am the deminers strap their heavy royal blue body armour over their immaculately pressed tan-coloured uniforms before lowering the visors on their heavy helmets.
As they walk in a military-style convoy towards signs emblazoned with skulls and crossbones, they seem a million miles away from the glittering events of the Mine Ban Treaty's (Ottawa Treaty) Fifth Review Conference, which, just two days earlier, had taken place 100 miles down the road.
The streets of Siem Reap, a city once depopulated by the Khmer Rouge, were a scene of high-security convoys and regal processions during the conference's week's events. Motorcades carrying the president, royals and international dignitaries cleared the way through streets normally swarming with tuk-tuks and tourist traffic.
In 1997, 122 countries signed the Ottawa Treaty, a bold pact with one clear goal: to rid the world of anti-personnel landmines. The treaty not only seeks to ban the use, stockpiling, production and transfer of these deadly weapons but also commits signatories to clearing mine-affected areas and offering support to those who have fallen victim to their brutal legacy.
On the eve of the summit, hundreds of people dined beneath the etched towers of Bayon Temple, its imposing bodhisattva faces in the world's largest religious monument, Angkor Wat, looking down on diplomats, royals, campaigners, ministers, journalists and survivors.
The sense of pride for a country that once held the grim title of the most mined country in the world was evident on Prime Minister Hun Manet's face as he welcomed delegates. The diners had gathered in Cambodia from across 160 signatory countries to assess the progress that had – or had not – been made in the 25 years since the treaty's inception.
Kim Beazley, Australia's former deputy prime minister, called the Southeast Asian kingdom the 'spiritual home' of the treaty – Cambodian survivors were instrumental in driving the treaty from negotiation to adoption. Mr Manet proudly said landmine casualties have reduced from more than 4,300 in 1996 to fewer than 100 annually over the last decade.
But the spirit of optimism that propelled the treaty into existence was met with a stark reality the next day as the conference began: the 2025 mine-free world goal – set in 2014 at the third review conference in Mozambique – was clearly out of reach.
Landmines are still being produced and used across the globe. Even as states celebrated historic progress, they couldn't shy away from resurgent challenges from escalating conflicts, donor fatigue and the relentless persistence of mines as tools of war.
On the first day of the conference, more than 100 people lined the walkway taken by delegates in silent protest to US President Joe Biden's decision to transfer landmines to Ukraine. The move that cast a shadow over the proceedings and sources from both sides of the decision-making process told The Telegraph that the timing was likely deliberate.
While the US, not a signatory to the treaty, is free to supply them, Ukraine's status as a signatory complicates matters. Donald Steinberg, a veteran diplomat, quit his post with USAID. His resignation letter, copies of which were distributed around the conference, described the move as 'unnecessary, inhumane, and irresponsible.'
Ukraine's delegation chose not to address the US landmine transfer directly, instead, in his remarks to the plenary, Oleksandr Riabtsev condemned Russia's actions as 'genocidal.' Mr Riabtsev declined to comment on the transfer when approached.
One mine action advisor, speaking anonymously due to the sensitivity, told The Telegraph: 'The timing... was too convenient. We're in the middle of a propaganda war. Why announce something last week, when you could have done it next week? It felt like a decision designed to create a buzz.'
They acknowledged that Ukraine likely feels at a disadvantage. Saying that its attempts to advance have repeatedly been blocked by Russian anti-tank and anti-personnel mines: 'They're looking at the tools Russia uses and saying, 'Why can't we have the same?' But it's a dangerous game.'
The Ottawa Treaty was once heralded as a triumph of humanitarian disarmament. By the late 1990s, the world had recoiled from the horrific civilian toll of mines in places like Cambodia, as well as Afghanistan and Mozambique. But the war in Ukraine is now testing its limits.
'The treaty's architects never anticipated a conflict like this,' said the advisor. 'Back then, the world was moving away from state-on-state warfare. No one imagined we'd be talking about major European armies fighting trench wars in 2023.'
Back in the minefield, Sina knows what she is up against. The 32-year-old's job deactivating unexploded ordnance is a daily reminder of lost family members. Sitting on a blue tarpaulin with another rigged up overhead for shade at a rest point in the middle of the minefield, she starts to cry as she tells The Telegraph about her father, grandfather and aunt who were all killed by mines.
The bleat of a radio fills the silence between her sobs before she continues: 'My salary means my kids can go to school. Before I did farm work, earning barely any money. Being away from my children is very hard, but I have no choice.'
By November 2024, demining teams had uncovered 18 mines and thousands of metal fragments in the six-hectare area in Ou Choam Kraom since beginning their work in June. Across the village, 761 anti-personnel mines, 35 anti-tank mines and 126,569 pieces of metal have been found.
Every scrap of metal – whether a coin, bullet casing or chewing gum wrapper – triggers detectors, making progress exacting and fraught with uncertainty. Each beep could signal a deadly explosive or something innocuous.
MAG's technical field manager, Kurdish Iraqi Bakir Ali tells The Telegraph: 'Managing this is a military operation, a first mistake is a last mistake. As you can see, all of this area has very harsh vegetation, which adds another layer to the demining. Very different terrain to somewhere like Iraq where its rocky open areas.'
Every day, including weekends, for 20 days straight Sina straps on body armour and runs a metal detector over the earth, helping to deactivate a mine when she finds one. The red patch sewn on her uniform with her blood type is a reminder of the risk. For this perilous work, she makes $300 a month. Her three children – ages 16, 13 and five – stay with her husband or mother for those 20 days, until she returns home for 10 days and repeats the cycle all year.
'I want to build a nice house,' Sina says, but laughing continues: 'All the money is going to my children at the moment.' How many mines has she found during clearance? Too many to remember.
Every 45 minutes a piercingly loud and ominous whistle cries out across the field, signalling a 10-minute break. Sina and her team sit in the shade of the 36-degree heat, remove their PPE and take a sip of water before the whistle is blown again and another 45 minutes begin. Cambodia's deminers are among the most experienced in the world. Over the past decade, thousands have been dispatched to clear mines in Africa and the Middle East. Last year, Cambodian specialists began training Ukrainian deminers.
Global progress on clearing contaminated land has slowed to a crawl. No state party completed clearance last year, with the last successes – Chile and the UK – in 2020. Loren Persi of the Landmine Monitor Report said in a session at the conference that while the number of contaminated states has almost halved since 1999, improvised mine use has surged. 'Only Oman,' Mr Persi said, 'is on track to meet its clearance deadline.'
Nearly three dozen countries remain outside the treaty, including some key current and past producers and users of landmines. Mark Hiznay of Human Rights Watch warned of a 'dirty dozen' still linked to production, including Armenia, China and North Korea. Of these, six countries – India, Iran, Myanmar, Pakistan, Russia, and South Korea – are actively producing
mines. 'We're seeing more and more mines rolling off factory lines,' Mr Hiznay said. Information is difficult to get hold of and often only made available via freedom of information requests, he says.
The financial landscape for mine action paints an equally troubling picture. Ruth Bottomley of Landmine Monitor said that while funding for Ukraine nearly doubled last year, other nations were left behind. Afghanistan, she said, one of the world's most heavily contaminated countries, saw funding plummet by over £40 million in the wake of the Taliban's return to power.
'Victim support also remains very low,' Ms Bottomley told The Telegraph, with earmarked funds accounting for just 5-8 per cent of international aid. 'As someone from the UK, I was disappointed to see the new government hasn't stepped up with funding.'
Princess Diana's fervent advocacy brought the scourge of landmines into public consciousness for Britons. Her compassion galvanised support across the political spectrum and led to the government embracing the cause. Dr Riccardo Labianco, MAG's International Policy Manager, points to liberal governments of the late 1990s riding a tide of progressive idealism.
But over the past decade, the UK's funding for mine clearance has drastically declined. In 2023, the UK's contribution to mine action funding was £12.2 million, compared to £100 million over three years in 2017. The UK's contributions are below the funding levels of the US, Japan, Germany and others.
Public sentiment has mirrored this shift, Dr Labianco says. Indeed, surveys indicate a growing scepticism toward foreign aid, with a significant portion of the populace favouring reductions. Economic challenges at home have sharpened the debate, with many questioning the allocation of funds abroad when domestic issues demand attention.
The proceedings in the plenary bore a preformative sheen with pre-prepared statements delivered by delegates. But the conference was a testament to the global consensus against the cause – a rare accord in international diplomacy.
Thailand announced plans to improve mine clearance cooperation with Cambodia, while Sudan pleaded for international assistance. War, Jurkuch Barach Jurkuch, chairperson for South Sudan National Mine Action Authority said, has ravaged clearance efforts: 'Equipment has been stolen, and vast areas remain off-limits due to ongoing violence.'
Echoing frustrations across the room, the International Campaign to Ban Landmines (ICBL) criticised the slow pace of clearance. 'Exactly 30 years ago today, a landmine tore apart my body,' Zoran Jesic said. 'Believe me, it is hard to still have patience.'
The Siem Reap-Angkor Action Plan for 2025-2029 offered a glimmer of hope. This ambitious framework integrates gender considerations, national ownership strategies and for the first time, environmental and climate-change priorities. States are now encouraged to incorporate mine action into national climate plans and promote sustainable operations. France has a cunning funding solution: a small tax on airline tickets that helps fund the International Foundation for Demining and Mine Assistance.
The most tangible sign of progress is in a village declared landmine-free in early 2023. Driving down a narrow road a farmer overtakes on a motorbike, his equipment strapped to the back and a prosthetic leg jutting to the side, a sight that has become all too familiar.
A river shaded by banana plants and swaying palms soon comes into view. A rickety wooden bridge to the left is sturdy enough for motorbikes but cannot take cars. As the Land Cruiser slowly advances through the water, Chantouen, a MAG translator, explains that in the wet season, this route becomes impassable, cutting villagers off from vital outreach programs.
In an open-window classroom of the Ou Krouch school, a mixed group of year five and six pupils sit behind wooden desks as a MAG worker leads a mine-awareness session. The charity's name is easy for the children to remember as it coincidentally means 'sky' in Khmer. How many of them have seen a mine before? Almost half of the class raises their hands.
One girl in a school uniform of a white shirt, black kilt and bright yellow rubber sliders recounts seeing 'one in the mountains. She said 'it looked like an orange box' but knew enough to run and tell her parents. 'When I told them, they were so angry, they kept saying I was lucky to be alive,' she says.
It is a familiar story here, where curiosity and childhood play often clash with the invisible dangers lurking just beneath the surface. In 2022, a group of children from a neighbouring province ventured into Ou Krouch forest to search for mushrooms. Two of them – a boy and a girl – were killed by a landmine. It's a story recounted by many of the villagers and in the school.
MAG, which began its work in the village in 2002, has steadily chipped away at those dangers. Its deminers have cleared 17.5 million square metres of land, removing 254 anti-personnel mines, 25 anti-tank mines and 32 pieces of UXO. Today, the once-lethal fields are a patchwork of rice paddies and vegetable gardens, tended to by farmers who no longer need to tread cautiously.
Villagers convene at an open wood-structured house on stilts, tentatively moving away from the lit fire which is keeping them warm under the 'cold' 28-degree skies. They rush out plastic chairs and are excited to share their stories.
One woman, Un Vy, wearing a blue and yellow floral shirt begins rattling off names and descriptions of different types of mines. As a bomb carrier for soldiers throughout the war, Un became familiar with an astonishing range of lethal weapons.
Jumping off the red plastic chair, her long black plait flailing behind her and her smile revealing a line of missing teeth, the 68-year-old stands up and motions carrying a mine on her back like a rucksack. Her grandchild interrupts, running over to ask for money. She shoos him away and continues: 'For almost 20 years, I carried the mines one by one from the bottom of the mountain to the top. They were so heavy! Brand new mines! I had no choice, I was enlisted to do this job while living in the forest.'
Remarkably she was never injured and now spends her days as deputy village chief freely walking around the streets engaging with villagers, solving disputes and keeping everything running.
Duch Mon, 52, in a purple roll-neck t-shirt and fake monogrammed Dior trousers, chimes in: 'There were mines everywhere. We had to do farming on the contaminated land, we had no choice. It is weird because we were never really scared. It was just life, but a huge part of it.' While the demining work is far from over in Cambodia and across the world, here in Ou Krouch life goes on, not without memory, but with a determination to rebuild, one step at a time.