During the Khmer Rouge years, every trace of everyday spirituality was swept under the rug. Buddhist pagodas were turned into prisons or granaries, monkhood was outlawed, and centuries-old rituals blending animist beliefs with Theravada teachings were outlawed as “reactionary.” Spirit shrines beside rice fields were smashed, ritual specialists were driven underground—or worse—and whole communities lost the heartbeat of their village life.

Those syncretic practices had provided a safety net: blessing ceremonies for new houses, neak ta (local spirit) worship at riverbanks, protective amulets tucked inside fishing boats or children’s clothing. When the regime collapsed in 1979, it left behind broken tradition and a collective trauma that cut people off from those gentle folk-Buddhist rhythms.

Yet resilience proved stronger than the regime’s iron grip. By the mid-1980s, surviving monks quietly began ordination rituals in hidden pockets of the countryside. Villagers, whispering among themselves, relaunched ancestral ceremonies to honor household spirits. As Cambodia reopened in the 1990s and UNESCO started funding pagoda restorations, old customs rose from the ashes. Community ceremonies for Pchum Ben (Ancestor’s Day) now weave together formal chanting with animist offerings—an invitation to the past that refuses to be forgotten.

Recent years have seen this revival speed up. A 2023 digital archive project captured oral histories of spirit-house rituals, while mental-health initiatives have rehired traditional healers to help cope with post-traumatic stress—a modern twist on old remedies. Cultural tourism spots like Phnom Kulen now list neak ta shrines on their maps, encouraging visitors to observe blessings without disturbing them.

Today’s Cambodian Buddhism carries scars of that dark chapter, but it also wears them proudly. Folk-Buddhist practices and mainstream doctrine have knitted back together, reminding everyone that faith is never just one thing. It adapts, survives—and, in Phnom Penh’s newly lit pagodas or a quiet village blessing by the Mekong, shines as a testament to a culture far too resilient to ever be fully erased.